Total Drama Tournament
by Sonowa
Summary: Eight of the best and eight of the worst contestants return to Camp Wawanakwa for a chance at even more money. Which champ will be the best? Will the losers make an upset? And just what is the new twist on determining challenges?
1. Day 1, Part 1: We Are the Chumpions

**Author's Note: Surprise, surprise, I don't own anything! I don't even own the premise for the story, that's how bad it is. Total Drama Island and Total Drama Action are all run by the amazing Teletoon and Fresh TV.**

**These stories (that is to say, new seasons with the old contestants… or campers… or whatever the devil they are) are nothing new to the average reader. While this is probably accurate. I figured I'd give this a shot… and maybe write the entirety of a story that isn't one chapter long. Ugh.**

**As for couples, we're going to try and stick with the originals here; that is to say, Duncan and Courtney, Bridgette and Geoff, Owen and Izzy, Gwen and Trent, et al. Other contestants not competing will show up, don't worry. The question is how… a ha ha.**

**The following story is rated T for language, some sexual scenes, and the fact that the writer is edging near insanity. No lawsuits will be accepted for the astounding work, or lack thereof. Read on if you wish.**

Chris tapped his foot impatiently as he stared at the dock. His hair, still unkempt but dubbed amazing by fangirls and egotistical hosts alike, waved frantically as a wind storm began swirling.

"'Perfect weather,' they said! 'Great for opening a brand new season,' they said! Dang weathermen couldn't get the pattern right if it was drawn out in front of them as raindrops fell on their damn…"

"Chris! We're live!"

The host turned to the camera with an eyebrow raised. Indeed, the small red light was blinking on the cameraman's… well, camera. Immediately, Chris gave a huge grin and began speaking in his world-recognized voice…

"Welcome back to Camp Wawanakwa! We've had two successful seasons under our belt, and before we start the worldwide Total Drama, The Musical, we thought we'd bring ourselves back to the old homestead for one last hurrah!

"This season's going to be a bit different than other years, since we've determined our campers by their previous performances! The top four and the bottom four from both of our previous season will compete for… well, actually, not much; a mere four-hundred thousand and this jar of pickles Chef found in the refrigerator after finishing the season finale of Total Drama Action."

"I think one of them's reproducing!" Chef yelled from offscreen.

Chris tightened his face in fear, but calmed himself quickly.

"Yeah… that's great, Chef! Look, the thing that matters here is, we're pulling out all the stops for this season! No stupid lawsuits going to get our tail ends kicked, no finicky parents are going to complain about a challenging being "deadly" or "life-threatening" or "illegal;" it's all here, and nothing can pause it.

"This is for the title of greatest, and worst, of the sixteen biggest winners and worst losers! Two-fifths of last season's winnings and a cruddy container of cucumbers soaking in brine await the winner… brace yourself, world! This is the Total… Drama… Tournament!"

Another wind blast blasted, and the aforementioned pickle jar flied off to the right of the screen. A large shattering is heard, Chris barely managing to dodge free-flying shards of glass.

"Um… perhaps it's for the best if we only offer the four-hundred grand this season?" Chris asked no one in particular.

The camera nodded in response.

**The theme song has not changed. I'm too lazy to make up an opening montage. Bleah.

* * *

**

Much to the chagrin of Chris, the winds and rain sped up during the minute-odd opening sequence. Now standing on the fabled Dock of Shame, Chris attempted to give a massive grin.

"Welcome back to the Total Drama Tournament! In a matter of time, our champs and chumps will be arriving to face off for four hundred thousand dollars… because our budget is really suffering nowadays, unfortunately. Just wait until you see… oh! Our first competitor has already arrived!"

As a helicopter lands near the dock, the egghead, Noah, walks off slowly, an umbrella in his right hand and a laminated book in his left.

"Ah, Noah, the cynic we love to hate! Good to have you back," Chris greeted.

Noah took a single eye off of his literature, and closed his book.

"I take it you have to make us feel welcome according to our new contracts, and not because you've grown some actual emotions, correct?" Noah questioned, placing a small piece of paper on his current page.

"Um… shut up. Anyways, since you were third eliminated on season one, you know why you're here, right?" Chris asked mockingly.

"To smack you in the face. With this book. Until you develop a large gash on your forehead and die from blood loss, in which case we will all be freed from your terrible reign as a so-called host," Noah responded without missing a beat.

Chris held up a finger and prepared to create a legitimate response, but Noah had already walked past him, spinning his umbrella to knock off excess rain.

"Why… do I not have rain protection?" Chris mumbled, as Owen hopped off of his helicopter and immediately gave the host a huge bear hug.

"Chris! My man! It's so great to be back!" Owen yelled, as excited as ever. Chris shoved the large teenager off of his body.

"Ugh… yeah, great to have you. As champion of season one, you're permitted here. And seeing as the next helicopter's arriving, I'd advise moving."

Owen stared blankly at the host.

"Um… move?" Chris asked.

Owen did not budge, still staring blankly.

"Look, we still have to get rid of the dang pickles, so just-"

Chris could not finish his sentence, as Owen was already gathering and munching on the pickles, tossing the shards of glass into the water and causing the unfortunate death of many a Wawanakwa shark.

"You're just going to stand there and let those innocent animals die?"

Chris, watching the spectacle of an oaf and his food, gave a small jump as he heard Bridgette's question.

"The poor things are being impaled by Owen, and you're just standing here… you're pathetic. Why'd I even have to return to see this madness?" Bridgette asked the windstorm.

"Because you were first eliminated in season two. Now stop your environmental shtick and get back to just being the surfer chick, could you? Hell, why don't we just wait for Geoff to arrive so you two can start making out? That'll improve our view count for sure," Chris mocked, his smirk of doom grinning all the while.

Of course, the helicopter containing Geoff had just landed, and the cowboy-hat-wearing party guy was grinning like a child in a candy store… or more accurately, a perverted soul in a pornography store.

"This… is the most awesome event that has happened on this island. Ever," Geoff managed to say, keeping his mouth closed to prevent excess drooling.

Bridgette rolled her eyes, Chris crossing his fingers.

"Of course all you can think about is appealing to your damn hormones. You'd just about have sex with any female in the competition, wouldn't you?" Bridgette questioned, a menacing finger pointed at his exposed chest.

"Awesome!" was Geoff's reply. The surfer girl scoffed, huddling under Noah's umbrella, much to the chagrin of the bookworm.

"Dang it! Um… I mean, Duncan! Great to have y-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Is Courtney here yet? I have a bone to pick with her, and not just the one that someone shoved up her ass!" Duncan interrupted Chris as the punk tossed his luggage into a nearby pile of mud.

"Yeah, great… well, as champion of season two-"

"DON'T MENTION THE DAMN SEASON!" Duncan stopped Chris once more, his anger escalating to a higher level than expected from the green-haired teen.

"At least you weren't trapped in a boiling studio, waiting for Dagwood and Blondie here to stop sucking face long enough to start the goddamn wrap-up show," Noah countered, not looking up from his book.

"I don't need to hear anything from you, rectangle head!" Duncan yelled, causing Noah to make a quick check of the shape of his noggin. "Courtney had the entire season to get his revenge on that nerd, and she passed on every opportunity. She even tried to recruit that bastard!"

"Ahem."

Duncan turned around, his eyebrows lowering further as he caught glimpse of Harold, his arms crossed and his keyboard wrapped snugly around his thin body.

"The bastard awaits," Harold muttered, showing a faux-ninja stance.

"I'll pluck all of those damn beard hairs off of your mug!" Duncan cried, as a lightning bolt added to the semi-intense situation.

The two stared each other down until both men were tripped up by Owen, the oaf having spotted a loose pickle underneath both of their current positions.

"Way to spoil the moment, Owen!" Harold called out, adjusting his person and checking his keyboard for scratches. He paused momentarily to stare down the punk.

"Shall this wait for a later time?" Harold questioned, extending his arm.

Duncan stared at the limb, but eventually shook on the deal, albeit in a harsh matter. Harold returned the favor, the two still staring each other down.

"Aw, c'mon, guys! Give the fans what they want!" Chris demanded, though the rivals did not budge.

Chris sighed, then returned his attention to the area designated as a helipad. As another descended, Trent exited slowly, his hand lightly holding that of Gwen's.

"Um… weren't you two… y'know… over? The whole thing about the obsession and the overthinking and whatnot?" Chris asked, pointing a criticizing finger at the handprint on Trent's shirt.

"It was her idea, actually. We had a small conversation while waiting for our helicopters," Trent explained, letting down his guitar case.

"I'd be less of a critical thinker, he obsesses less. Quite a good deal, if you ask me," Gwen commented, slightly nudging Trent.

"It's not really obsessing… yeah, yeah it was," Trent responded sheepishly. Oddly, the rain had stopped falling upon the heads of the artistic duo, making the other campers, save for the umbrella-wielding Noah, very unhappy… and moist.

Chris lowered his eyebrows. "No arguments? No sudden bouts of rage? No whacking Harold over the head with a shovel?"

"The bruises are still intact! Gosh!" the nerd yelled back, though the comment was ignored by Chris.

"The series is Total _Drama_, not Total _Let's All be Happy with the Sun Shining Down Upon Us! _I need rage, making out, or a sick, twisted combination of the two! What'll it take for that, huh?" Chris yelled angrily at the Goth, who slowly began to sneak behind Trent.

"I'm thinking… LeShawna?" Geoff managed to guess between slaps to the face provided by Bridgette.

"Yeah, definitely her. She's got enough drama to match those grapefruits sticking out of her shirt. Those apples are definitely not supposed to be that big!" Duncan laughed, much to the chagrin of the clear-minded contestants.

"Ex-_cuse _me?"

LeShawna, having just come out of her helicopter, stomped towards Duncan and grabbed him by the collar, managing to somehow dodge the spikes bordering the leather.

"You did NOT just talk about my looks, and you did NOT just call me a drama queen! I swear, one more word and you aren't going to be competing in this season for much longer, Lord no!"

"You tell that neanderthal! Show him what for!" Harold cheered on, his grin extremely massive as he saw his rival sweat under the pressure of his on-off-on-never-again girlfriend-esque… you get the idea.

"Don't get any ideas! I'll be coming for you next after playing alongside that white girl last season, string bean!" LeShawna cried out angrily while still strangling Duncan, attempting to break his neck brace by use of a glass shard missed by Owen.

"I was weak! The song was catchy! I named a snail after you, isn't that enough?" the nerd begged.

"Not who I meant, skinny! I'm talking about Beth!"

"Um… excuse me? What about me?"

Repeating the trend of coincidental helicopters, Beth hopped out of the helicopter and quickly ran towards LeShawna, her anger being heard several miles away.

"What about me, LeShawna? I heard you complaining about… playing, right?" Beth asked quite innocently, her head cocked to a side.

"Oh… oh, you KNOW what you did to my man last season, girl! I saw you hitting on him during that challenge!" LeShawna yelled, now facing Beth in a fit of blind rage. As Beth was tossed around by the angry young woman, Geoff helped Duncan up, though he also found a small black dot next to his left leg.

"Lil' Scruffy! Why'd it have to be you, man? WHY'D IT HAVE TO BE YOU?!" Duncan mourned over the loss of his second spider, Geoff now backing away.

Turning our attention away from LeShawna and her, shall we say, interesting outlook on our competitors, we return to Noah, still with an umbrella and book, now speaking with Ezekiel, who appeared on an unseen airplane.

"Look, we were only cast together because we were the first eliminated. Don't get any ideas, alright?" Noah muttered, the prairie boy attempting to gain shelter by use of the umbrella.

"Wasn't that long, eh? After all, we do seem to be very popular by the… undercats, right?" Ezekiel questioned, furthering his toque lower onto his head.

"Underdogs. Now leave, you're blocking my darkness," Noah turned away, prodding Ezekiel slightly with the tip of the umbrella.

"Y'knoo… for the comic relief, we're doing pretty miserable, eh?"

"Some people are here for victory… you're just here since you're a loser," Noah retorted, closing his book to look directly towards the half-closed eyes of Ezekiel. "Winners and losers go here, they're divided, somebody wins. Either way, Chris is rolling in the money."

"At least there's the fame, eh?" Ezekiel brought up, which was rewarded by a smack to the face courtesy of Noah.

"Speaking of fame, looks like the anti-me has just arrived. Show your face, traitor!" Noah cried out to the darkness.

The aforementioned traitor, being the model Justin, frowned as he stared at the rectangular head of Noah.

"Ah, Noah. Always the simpleton, looking to brains instead of looks. You'll never be as successful as I am with only your mind on your side," the model taunted, his hands on the side of his torn jeans. Ezekiel shuddered between the two, a mole caught between two charging elephants. **[1]**

"Mind over matter!"

"Looks before wisdom!"

"Intellectuality begets all other things!"

"I've never seen a smart model!"

"I've never seen a beautiful physicist!"

This continues for a good several hours. Let's change back to the dramatic contestants, shall we?

A quick pan of the camera and a buzz of static leads us to a frightened Beth hugging Trent for dear life, to the simultaneous chagrin and humor of Gwen, and LeShawna being held back by a grunting Chef, his apron torn at parts by the rampaging woman.

"Keep holding her back! We still have at least four more competitors to greet!" Chris commanded the former soldier, who dragged LeShawna to the main cabins, a fallen splinter of wood knocking her out.

Remarkably, the rain and wind stop suddenly, the sun returns, the birds sing, and the sharks killed by Owen's tossed glass magically reincarnate… until they get their fins sliced off by the next helicopter after jumping with life.

"Here's Courtney, guys!" Chris announced to a choir of boos, yays, and arguing teenagers. ("I think another's arrived, eh?")

"Oh, stop it. I was unfairly and unjustly removed from last season and the season before, and I will not tolerate any more troubles from the likes of you all," Courtney sniffed, crossing her arms and cocking an eyebrow in her infamous pose.

"You were voted off, actually," Beth squeaked. "You also managed to sneak onto the show by use of your lawyers, right?"

Courtney's face turned a harsh shade of red, but the CIT calmed herself with a few deep breaths.

"That… was merely dramatic effect brought to us by Chris, and nothing more…" she replied, between heaves of relaxing air.

Beth opened her mouth again to speak, but her voice was fortunately concealed by Izzy, leaping some seventy feet in distance from her helicopter, the flying machine still above the helipad-labeled area.

"Where the heck did she come from… and why aren't you letting me introduce you?" Chris whined, the contestants and Chef slapping their faces in shame.

"Pretty much the only reason we haven't attempted to murder you in strange new ways is because you can supply us with money and fame. Of course, I managed to get said items in a recent heist on the government on a small island south of Botswana, so I'm all good. I never actually expected the reds to be populating there, though!" Izzy commented, while still closing Beth's mouth and making a hot cup of tea with her free hand and ankles.

"Yes… lovely. The Russians were invading Botswana," Courtney repeated, deliberately slowly. "The RCMP permitted you to do this?"

"That doesn't matter, actually," Chris said, sipping on Izzy's tea. "Izzy shouldn't even be here, since the third person eliminated was E-Scope."

"Oh," remarked Izzy, who then disappeared in a puff of logic.

"Though, technically, that could be considered an alternate personality. After all, she's also managed to harness the spirits of Explosivo and Esquire, so they must have an interstellar connection, right?" Harold questioned.

"This isn't an anime, Sir Whinesalot!" Duncan retorted.

"Get him, Duncan!" Courtney cheered on, already donning her pom-poms.

Harold backed up a tad. "Um… Noah? Some assistance here?" the nerd asked.

"You probably don't have a spine, it's been rubbed so much!" was the bookworm's reply, still arguing with Justin.

"At least my hair doesn't defy gravity!" Justin retorted.

Harold sighed, but fortunately the fireworks were interrupted by the arrival of the final two helicopters.

Eva and Heather, both looking sincerely angered, slowly exited the plane. Ezekiel shuddered between Noah and Justin's bickering, Duncan and Courtney stopped just short of tossing Harold into the fake backdrop, and even Chef Hatchet pulled at his collar a tad.

"Well?" the two asked simultaneously, to hesitant applause and a few mutterings of fear.

"Blast it, girls… don't you have any idea what time it is?" Chris asked, examining a pocketwatch in the shape of the host's face.

"Doesn't matter," Eva responded, lobbing a barbell onto the timepiece and shattering it, the debris once again killing the sharks.

"It's probably not going to be the same time when it airs, especially in the American version. They'll probably just edit it to make you say how you wished it was Lindsay so you could drool over her," Heather remarked, rolling her slits of eyes.

Chris stared at Heather for a few minutes in bewilderment, but eventually shook his head. "Alright… splendid. Look, can we just get the teams divided now? We'll have to go to the main cabins, though; I fear LeShawna might still be knocked out.

"Also, I'm pretty sure the confessional's been knocked out during the storm, so… that's why we have the substitute. I'm pretty sure we left it… oh God…"

Chris ran in a panic towards the main cabin, yelling to Chef something unintelligible. Several seconds later he returned, holding what appeared to be a microwave oven.

"Just… open… the door… and speak…" Chris gasped. "It… records… like the camera does. Excuse me while I collapse."

And indeed he does.

* * *

**Confession Microwave: Not like we're used for cooking or anything. Lord no.**

**Gwen** – "A microwave? I guess it's a tad better than the bathroom, but it's loads worse than the honest-to-God dressing room on season two. The lack of people powdering my face is a plus, though."

**Izzy** – "I need to thank Harold for getting me back on here. Those logical plotholes in the middle of space-time can be a major bane on the rib cage. Of course, it does give some leverage…"

/Izzy attempts to send her breasts in the upwards direction, though they fall immediately. She frowns, and settles with settling them on the microwave door./

**Eva** – "Pathetic."

* * *

Finally gathered in the lodge, the sixteen contestants, LeShawna included, stood dormant, as Chris stood in front of Chef's cubby hole, pacing with a smirk that could paralyze a Wooly Beaver.

"Now, to create the teams. As you know, we've chosen you based on your performances in the previous seasons. Thus, you shall be divided in the same style.

"Would Owen, Harold, Gwen, Duncan, Heather, Courtney, Beth, and LeShawna please step forward?"

The aforementioned eight approached the egotistical host, who tossed them a banner, Harold catching it.

Unveiling the sheet showed a large trophy in red, little waves surrounding it to represent an aura of shininess.

"You are the Killer Champs!" Chris to absolutely no fanfare whatsoever.

"Admittedly, I'm getting tired of the whole "Killer" this and "Screaming" that. Can't you think of any decent synonyms?" Harold asked.

"Don't be such a party pooper! It's awesome!" Owen responded, giving the banner a bear hug… or the equivalent of a bear hug to a sheet.

"And now… for you guys," Chris turned to the other eight, his smirk growing every second. "Would Ezekiel, Justin, Geoff, Izzy, Eva, Trent, Noah, and Bridgette please step forward?"

Rolling their eyes at the repetition of a phrase, the losers did as commanded, and were thrown a filthy quilt, unraveled by Noah.

The green logo was of a crying child who bore a close similarity to Chef Hatchet, pointing an accusing finger to the right.

"The Screaming Losers have been chosen!" Chris declared. The facepalms that came from the announcement almost seemed to be applause, minus the grunts of pain.

"And now… the good stuff. Our challenges will be determined by a marvelous little gadget I picked up. Hang tight, dudes!" Chris shouted back, though the last word only affected Geoff.

"Wooo! This rocks!" Geoff cheered, running on the empty words spoken by Chris.

* * *

The silhouettes of Chris and Chef argued, next to a large circular object. Chris was the first to fire.

"What do you mean, it's gone?"

"I said it's gone! We couldn't keep it since you had to pay for those helicopters!"

"Well… we didn't think of any challenges. Anything else back here?"

"Um…"

"We're not doing the machine, Chef."

"It's the only thing we have left!"

"Look, I said it wasn't a good idea to buy it. Why did you buy it?"

"In case something like this happened! Let's just do this!"

"Ugh… fine. But I won't be happy about it."

* * *

"Alright, contestants… oof… here's the… ugh…"

Chris grunted as he pulled out a large wheel with a rusty and stained arrow nailed to its end. A small fax machine rested on the side of it, sitting on a small stool.

"THIS… is the Wheel of Challenges. Not the original gadget, but it'll work for now. Chef bought this garbage at a garage sale for emergencies, and apparently this qualifies.

"You'll notice the numbers on these panels of the wheel," Chris huffed, pointing to finely printed numbers near other panels with phrases such as "BANKRUPT", "MORALLY BANKRUPT", and "LOSE A TURN". "Where the arrow lands, the fax machine will print out a challenge for us to compete in. I'll read it off, we participate, good times. Shut up, no complaints."

With a mighty snarl, Chris spun the arrow, reciting a small chant:

_"Wheel of Challenges, spin spin spin_

_Tell us the task that they'll partake in!"

* * *

_

**Confession Microwave: Not partaking.**

**Harold** – "It's kind of weak for Chris to steal such a thing, but it does have a good reputation. I'll let it slide for now." **[2]

* * *

**

The wheel stopped on "3", and the fax machine printed out a small sheet of paper with a mechanical wheeze. Chris nabbed the paper, and grinned wickedly.

The screen cut. It was a commercial.

* * *

**[1] – Please don't mind my ridiculous analogies. Seeing as there's no action sometimes, I need to let the narration handle the attempts at humor.**

[**2] – Harold refers to Animaniacs and the Wheel of Morality, which the Wheel of Challenges once was. Supposedly, Chef bought the wheel at a Warner Brothers garage sale.**

**Author's Note: Yes, cliffhangers.**

**Now, for a few apologies. First and foremost, to the likes of Mr. Necromancer and Mr. 15 for stealing their splendid formulas.**

**Second, to Mr. Am I, seeing as I kept him waiting for at least two months for this story.**

**And finally, to my nonexistent fans that I write for that may or may not still care. Platonic love and fudge brownies for you all. Non-fans that become fans will have theirs shipped in the mail.**

**I thank you for reading... or skimming, or whatever it is you do now.**


	2. Day 1, Part 2:  Fight, Camera, No Action

**Author's Note: I still do NOT own anything, from the characters to the plotline to the dang words of the English language. But since jibberish has not been accepted as an official language on this site, you'll have to deal with this. Actually… I DO own one character…**

**Now then… back to the show.

* * *

**

"Oh ho… ooooh ho ho ho!" Chris laughed evilly, staring at the piece of paper printed out. The Wheel of Challenges sat near him with a vile odor coming out of it, thanks to a noxious glue that held the spinning contraption together.

"What? Is it that bad?" Beth asked, tilting her head to one side.

"That, or it could be good and he's just trying to fool us," Owen remarked. "He's psyched us out worse times."

"Wait, are you actually using your head for once, big guy?" Duncan asked, smirking evilly. "Looks like that diet of yours can actually help you in more ways than one!"

"Does anyone even CARE about this challenge?" Chris asked, exasperated.

"Not really," answered Harold. "We're just here for the money and fame. It's how the game works."

"Fame is easy to come by, though," Izzy responded. "At least when the RCMP is after you daily."

"True… but you're a significantly different sense of that, Izzy," Harold retorted. "Not everyone passes their time setting forests aflame."

"But the trees looked cold!"

"And setting them on fire would assist them in HOW many areas?"

"Fire beats cold! It works in nature and it works in a majority of video games!"

"Izzy, video games aren't reali-"

"YOU GUYS!"

The amazingly odd conversation between the two redheads was ceased by yet another outbreak from the host, animated steam shooting out of his ears.

"Look… just shut up and listen right now! The challenge is actually simple this time! All you have to do is partake in a reality show!"

Silence.

"Yeah, I'm kidding. Look, you know that our budget is as low as Chef's standards for living, right?"

"I'm right here, pretty boy…" Chef muttered, spinning a cleaver in his hand.

"Yeah, sure, go back to making inedible foodstuffs. Look, the thing that matters is that right now we don't even have a title sequence! When the show starts, all we have is a few of our newly-hired interns saying the name of the show!

"That's where you come in. The paper says, quite simply, that you guys are going to direct us a new opening sequence! After spending the entirety of a season on a movie lot, you guys should have no problems knowing what to put and what to not put in a piece of film!"

"That is to say, anything that we DID do on that set?" Courtney asked, her arms still crossed.

"Shut up! You are a cheater!" Chris whined. The CIT rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. The point is, whoever makes the better intro will not only win immunity, but will have their intro shown on every future episode of this season.

"And to help you out, I'm going to give you each a little buddy for assistance. Losers, you're going to have Chef assist with your movie, while Champs… you get yourselves a new intern that we've gotten for this season."

Blowing on a dog whistle, a panting, dark-haired intern wearing the usual getup for such a job clambered forwards.

"Bingo… G… Nib… at your service… Mr. McClean, sir…" the intern gasped, kissing the host's feet and donning a chicken hat.

"Champs, this is Bingo Nib. You can use him for any assistance in this challenge," Chris said, nudging his head in the direction of the breathless teenager.

"Oh… hey… guys…" Bingo waved over before collapsing upon himself in a disgruntled heap.

"Yeah… well, feel free to use the confessional right about now," Chris gave permission. He was treated to sixteen empty stares.

"Dude… the microwave camera's kinda busted," Geoff explained, shrugging.

"What? The only way that the camera could have been broken is if the microwave was actually used as a food-heating device!"

Chris slowly turned to Owen. The chubby teen was munching greedily on a large bag of microwave popcorn.

"Owen… how did you prepare that popcorn?" Chris asked, his eyebrows lowered.

"By a microwave, of course! Lucky me, there was only one on the entire island! Ha ha!" Owen chuckled before receiving a large, gray object to the face.

"Thank you, Chef," Chris nodded to the burly man, removing a similar object from a bag labeled "Salmon".

"So how do we record our thoughts now?" Heather questioned.

"Fixed… camera…"

The competitors turned to the collapsed Bingo, now raising a finger. "Camera… ready… set up… in old position… new polish… air fresheners… very nice…"

"That's fairly convenient," Bridgette remarked.

"Yeah… so… go crazy, I guess. I'm off to take a nap in my tanning booth," Chris remarked.

* * *

**Confession Cam Lite – With half the calories!**

**Duncan** – "I came out on top last year and had the best part in the opening credits knocking that dweeb out with a seagull. This should be a piece of cake! Hopefully not juvie cake, though. That breaks teeth."

**Izzy** – "I've got one word that will give me victory, and that word is… PYROTECHNICS!"

**Harold** – "I've got the feeling that something is fishy with this season, and I'm not talking about Chef's recent "salmon" dish. Chris has just left us in our horrid situation from last season to tear us apart for ratings. Of course, too much comes out of this and I'll be ousted like last season!"

* * *

Chef grunted as he hoisted another load of fireworks on the already atmosphere-scraping pile of illegal sparklers and other such great sky candy. Izzy grinned madly as the stack increased, though she seemed to be the only one interested; Geoff and Bridgette were kissing, Noah and Justin were arguing, Eva was beating the crud out of Ezekiel. Trent was trying to crack a forced smile, but ended up just looking at the red-head oddly and shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Izzy… I just think it should be a bit more about us then the flair and design, you know?" Trent asked. "After all, to an extent, it's us that the audience is interested in, right?"

"I thought they liked the life-threatening challenges," Justin remarked.

"Hard to believe you could think at all," Noah retorted. Justin gave him a glare of doom, but continued on.

"Why don't we just recreate some of our most daring moments on the show? Not dramatic, just action-packed. That way, we could also put those firearms of Izzy's in the mix, and they could all be together and make the blood pump for this season!"

The seven other campers and Chef stared at the male model with jaws meeting the ground.

* * *

**Confession Cam – If we had jaws, they'd be dropped as well.**

**Justin** – "Yeah, I'm planning on being a strategist this season. Everyone else on the team is an idiot, so it should be fairly simple. And one by one… they'll all go down!

"Heh… that line's pretty good. I hope someone's written that down."

* * *

"All right. All in favor of pretty boy's idea?" Chef questioned the losers.

"Aye!" was the response from a majority.

"All opposed?"

"Nay…" Noah muttered under his breath, his nose now infiltrating a novel.

"Great. Let's get to work on that opening!" Chef announced to wild cheers and a half-hearted fist-pump from Noah.

"All right… I've got a few plans set out. We'll do the motorcycle race and the eagle chase from season one, and we'll throw in the monster race and bone fights from season two for good measure. Any objections?" Justin asked.

"What aboot the props, eh?" Ezekiel managed to ask from behind the enraged Eva, currently beating on his back with Trent's guitar, much to the wincing pain of the musician.

"It's all set up. After all, a strongman such as Chef should have no problem carrying these things, right?"

The large man raised his eyebrows, and lowered them again immediately.

"Lousy kids these days. 'Get these props,' they say. 'A strongman can do it,' they say…" Chef grumbled, turning from his point to gather random pieces of crap from previous seasons.

"Thank you, Chef. While you're out there risking life and limb through shot and shell, we'll be out here thinking what a sucker you are," Noah near-quoted, not looking up from his literature. The veteran rolled his eyes.

* * *

"I'm telling you, normal people can't be called by dog whistles! It's not natural!"

"Perhaps Bingo isn't what we qualify as 'normal.' I mean, look at Izzy!"

"Izzy wouldn't be tired after running that distance."

"Well, Lord knows where he started!"

"WOULD YOU TWO SHUT UP?"

Harold and Gwen stopped their brief conversation after the outburst from a fuming LeShawna.

"Um… thank you, LeShawna," Courtney acknowledged the girl, who was proceeding to rip apart a rather large rubber ball. "So, I already have the plan laid out for our introduction…"

Groans resonated from the other teenagers.

"Seriously, Princess, your half-baked plans barely work half the time. The other half, they don't!" Duncan retorted, cracking smirks on a majority of the campers, Harold included, though he quickly slapped himself back to reality.

"Let's just leave the strategies to the strategist, shall we?" Heather muttered, back in her classic form. "I've made it to the top three before, while you weren't even supposed to be on the season that got you here in the first place."

"Well!" the C. I. T. gasped. "I'd like to hear an idea that could get us victory!"

"I'll bring the popcorn!" Owen called out.

"You still have the microwave?" Beth asked.

"Well it's not like the little guy can survive on his own! He needs a loving person in his life, don't you, Stanley?"

"Stanley the microwave?" Gwen questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Microwavey wouldn't be that good of a name…"

"LET'S FOCUS, PEOPLE!"

"Thank you again, LeShawna. Now then, your idea, Heather?" Courtney finally managed to ask.

"Well, the show has the word "drama" in the title? Why don't we just go ahead and recreate some of the most dramatic moments on the show?"

"I don't think that'd work…" Bingo peeped.

Heather turned to the intern, hands on her waist. "What makes you say that, little guy?"

"I've managed to catch what the other team is doing, ma'am…" Bingo started. "It seems that they're planning on doing something rather similar… except they're doing it based on action instead of drama."

Heather sighed, while Courtney grinned evilly.

"Well, well, well. Now you have to resort stealing ideas, do we, little miss strategist?" Courtney chuckled.

"No one caught me when I was stealing hair!" Heather responded.

"So very, very true," Harold murmured, though no one heard him.

"Which leaves us to my brilliant scheme… the Let's Kick the Crap Out of Harold Show!" Courtney announced, to several whoops and several screams.

"Deny! Deny! Malfunction! This idea is error!" Harold cried out, though to no (or at least very little) avail.

"All right, hold the nerdling down. I've got a spiked boxing love with your name on it!" Duncan cried out.

"It's payback for last year, string bean!" LeShawna yelled, rolling back her sleeves.

"Face it, Harold. We don't like you, and now you're gong to pay for being so annoying all these years," Courtney grinned, cracking her knuckles and bearing an overly-decorated whip.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Lacking in knuckles.**

**Harold** – "Did Courtney just suggest the dominatrix routine? Heh heh heh… old Harold's still got the charm with the ladies."

* * *

"Bingo! Get me out of this!" Harold cried out, though the intern could do nothing but shrug.

"Oh… I can't look…" Beth whispered, covering her eyes.

"Fortunately, I can…" Gwen remarked, the faintest of smiles forming on her lips.

"M'lady! Your loyal knight is in need of your assistance!"

"Sorry, Harold. 'M'lady' is a bit busy with her looks," Heather responded, not paying a speck of attention to the struggling nerd.

"Yeah… I'd help you, dude, but I think you're still on to me. Stanley here agrees, don't you, Stanley?" Owen asked his microwave, which opened a door.

"Owen! You don't know what you're doing! The movie camera doesn't work well with nuclear radiation of any variety!" Bingo cried out.

"Huh?"

The warning arrived too late. Already the camera began to melt into an unrecognizable pile of slime.

"Was any footage on there?" Beth asked.

"Doesn't look like it. I guess we can start anew," Bingo said. Harold yelped.

* * *

**Author's Note: Yep... we're just stopping here. I wanted to do this chapter in four parts, since I wanted to divide this into two portions. Just pretend it's a commercial break in the American version.**

**It's been a while, huh? Sorry for not updating earlier. I know that my fanbase of two were crying their eyes out.**

**The next chapter will not take two months, I promise. No, my fingers aren't crossed. Then again, how would you know?**

**I thank you for reading, and your patience. May the blessings of Bingo the intern and Stanley the microwave rest easy with you.**


	3. Day 1, Part 3: Trailer Mix

**Author's Note: I do not own the Total Drama franchise, nor the campers, the host, and the chef. I do, however, own Bingo G. Nib, the intern.

* * *

**

"Noah! You're up!"

"Wake me up when you're not going to listen to a mindless talking pair of pectoral muscles."

Eva groaned, and dragged the bookworm to where the cameras were already rolling. Trent and Ezekiel were covered in stitches, Geoff and Bridgette were pulling splinters off each other's lips somehow, and Justin was breathing heavily from the workout.

"Wait… wait, where's Izzy?" Noah asked.

"Setting up the fireworks. Said something about going out with a bang," Eva grunted.

"What? That's not in the plan!" Justin cried out, interrupting his self-served rib massage.

"Guess it is now, eh?" Ezekiel attempted to joke.

"Fine then. I'll just leave you to stop it, then!" the model commanded.

"What? But… she'll take my toque, eh? I like my toque!"

"And I like when my plan works. Get over there, or I will make sure that your little Canadian ass gets booted out of this stupid competition!"

His bushy eyebrows reaching his bushier hair, Ezekiel made a mad dash to the stack of fireworks. The redhead popped out from behind a large rocket labeled "THE BIG ONE" in red letters.

"Um… excuse me, eh? I think that Justin's got a problem with the… show," Ezekiel managed to spit out.

"Ah, let him fume. His idea's a load of shit, anyway. Could you pass me that lighter?" Izzy asked as if she was asking for some change.

Ezekiel picked up the lighter and eyed it, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. "You sure aboot this?" he asked. Izzy replied with a wild nod.

The homeschooled child sighed, and handed her the lighter.

"Now, I need you to give me a signal when the final scene has been aired and get those cameras rolling out here. Not a problem for you, right?" Izzy asked innocently once again.

"I'll do my best, but if Justin keeps to his limitations… shouldn't we have a back-up plan?"

Izzy gave a slight hint of a smirk.

"Nonsense. Justin can't lay a finger on me since I'll just pull that old story about us dating out of the blue. We should be just fine… unless this explodes in my face."

Ezekiel raised hie eyebrows once more, much to the delight of Izzy.

"Ha ha… these things can't kill me. I once was caught in the explosion of a few stray ones when breaking free from the RCMP's largest containment area. Apparently they stuffed the walls with graham crackers! Who'd've guessed?" Izzy questioned, somehow showing a miniature version of the outbreak by use of forest animals, the lot of them very confused.

"Good to hear… um…" Ezekiel started. "I'll… be off. What's the symbol, again?"

Izzy blew a kiss to Ezekiel, making him blush madly.

"That's the symbol," Izzy responded. "Or would it make you a tad too hot under all of that cold-protective clothing?"

Mute with anxiety, Ezekiel dashed back up the hill.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Collect them all!**

**Ezekiel** – "Wha… what was that all aboot, eh?"

**Izzy** – "Admittedly, it's a bit fun to tease with him. I mean, the guy just fell out of the social boat with nary a lifejacket nor raft to his name! So… I'll attempt to guide him through life. Maybe I can hook him up with somebody? A bit of work with that intern, perhaps…"

**Bingo** – "Why do I feel a disturbance in the force?"

* * *

"Took you long enough. We've even got Noah in the thing now, so we should be done recording. Just make sure crazy girl keeps her paws off of my greatness!" Justin commanded, resulting with a meek salute from Ezekiel.

"Greatness? Your brain cells work as often as VG Cats updates!" Noah retorted predictably.

"Would you two just shut up already?" Eva yelled.

"Yeah… it's getting a bit old," Bridgette remarked, managing to escape from Make-Out City for a few brief moments.

"I'm not going to stop until he admits he's nothing but eye-candy!" Noah announced.

"Well, you'd better have your book of remarks ready, because I'm going to be the one wiping the floor with the competition this season!"

"With that mop on your head, it should be relatively easy!"

"At least I can get the ladies!"

"The stupid ones, or those who know how to differ people?"

Eva rolled her eyes, and dragged the two back to the main area, the duo still bickering on. Trent managed to push Geoff and Bridgette, though he was fortunate enough to be leaning on Geoff, who was leaning in at the moment.

"Well… everything's on the old camera here, I suppose," Chef remarked, holding the small recording device out to Ezekiel. "Do me a favor and sort everything out for me, could ya? I need to sort out that Bingo kid in case he's caught in the middle of some ruckus created by the champs. And between you and me…" the large man leaned down to Ezekiel's ear. "Don't tell anyone I left this with you, huh? I think pretty boy's gone a bit… out of it upstairs, huh? Just… leave this between you and me, soldier. Commander's orders!"

Ezekiel saluted for the second time in three minutes, and Chef left the scene, polishing a cleaver as he went.

"All clear, Izzy!"

The young woman blew the kiss in response. Ezekiel blushed a tad more, and activated the camera somehow.

Izzy sparked the lighter and set it on the fuse leading to the pyrotechnics.

There was a great noise comparable to a mongoose's belch, and the sky erupted with color. Ezekiel's jaw dropped.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Unfamiliar with a belching mongoose.**

**Ezekiel** – "Oooh… just wait until the others see this. Justin's still goona flip, eh?

* * *

Bingo ran back to the Killer Champs with a new camera, making sure that Stanley's door was tightly shut, to the slight dismay of Owen, now out of microwave popcorn.

"All right, we can start recording. But can we please discuss the whole thing with Harold?" Bingo asked.

"FINALLY SOMEBODY SPEAKS UP!" Harold cried in jubilant success. The nerd was now tarred and feathered, looking somewhat similar to the world's nerdiest rooster.

"Yeah… you go shower up, Harold. I've cleaned up the showers as well, so take your time and we'll start recording," Bingo spoke calmly, attempting to ignore the daggers shot from Courtney's eyes.

"Awesome! Hot water!"

With that, Harold dashed off, leaving a fine trail of feathers.

"Just what was that? Hm? Why did you do that?" Courtney interrogated, pushing Bingo into a corner… or at least the next best thing, Owen's gut. "Harold has been making a mockery of us several years, and you're just letting him go like a baby stealing a lollypop?"

"I'm not sure cruelly beating him would make the situation any happier," Bingo managed to say.

"Does so for us. He killed Scruffy! He's not going to enjoy having a spine much longer!" Duncan exclaimed, raising his boxing glove in the air with victory, the spikes slightly off-kilter from punching a collection of feathers repeatedly.

"That little string bean was kissing Beth! I'm supposed to be the one he wants to make sweet love with!" LeShawna explained menacingly, casting a death glance at Beth, who was meekly hiding behind Gwen.

"That's three people. Why aren't you four helping him?" Bingo questioned those who did not partake.

"I'm waiting for Stanley's response," Owen said, quickly turning his attention back to the microwave, which began to have smoke shoot out of its back.

"I beat the guy with a shovel made of gold, and he was just fine with it. I figured this wouldn't be a problem at all," Gwen shrugged.

"I'm not one for dealing with an angry LeShawna…" Beth whimpered, curling up further, making Gwen chuckle.

"I was about to! You just _had_ to come around and interrupt my great idea!" Heather scoffed, leaning forward. The other castmates rolled their eyes, though Bingo was still diverting his attention from Heather's cleavage.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Also unfamiliar with cleavage.**

**Heather** – "Now that Lindsay is off of this season, Chris informed me before the season's start that I was supposed to have my shirt cut lower. I only did so a tiny bit… it's not noticable, is it? I'm not that shallow and body-influenced!"

**Bingo** – /He is grinning madly./ "Hellooooooo, strategist!"

* * *

It was at this time that Harold bounded back, once again dressed in his trademark clothing. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, we were just discussing how to obliterate you in front of the entire viewing world!" Courtney cried out, the whip once again in her hands.

"How does she do that?" Gwen asked Beth, who was too busy quivering to give a reasonable answer.

"Oh, no, you do not."

Heather had managed to sneak in front of Harold, her arms stretched out.

"I was left alone on that island to suffer during that race for a dumb suitcase… and now it's time to return the favor. You do so much as touch him, I will have you out of this show faster then you can say 'Chris is an egotistical jerk who cares for no one but himself!'"

* * *

**Confession Cam – Holographic! Truly one for the Cam Collectors!**

**Chris** – "Am not!" /He blows a raspberry./

* * *

"We still have to record something! So why not let Darth Nasal over here take the blows and we'll call it a day!" Duncan spoke menacingly.

"Oh, come on! I'll pay you anything, guys! What do you want, francs? Perhaps some beans and ketchup to go with them?" Harold pleaded.

"Oooh, I'll protect him for that!" Owen cried out, heaving Stanley with him. The chubby one pointed the microwave at the three Harold-haters.

"One false step, and you'll get a bit too much microwave popcorn that is reasonable at a time!" Owen threatened, five now-empty bags held in his other hand.

"Should we join them?" Beth asked Gwen. The goth girl shook her head.

"We'll see how he does. I don't want to be hated by even more people because of what I do on this dumb show," Gwen explained. Beth cast a worried look at Harold, but ended up nodding at Gwen.

"Bingo! Roll the damn thing! It's time to beat up some Harold!" LeShawna commanded. The intern juggled the camera a tad, but hit the recording button.

The carnage that ensued is not safe for the mortal mind.

Several recordings later, both teams gathered in the main lodge. Harold was bruised significantly, leaning on a rather large walking stick for support. Justin was wringing his hands in slight anticipation, mainly since Izzy had not returned yet. Ezekiel was also worrying, though he was doing his best to hide his fear.

"Well, contestants, you've made your openings, and I have the cameras. We shall view both of them, and the greater introduction will win not only the privelege of being on the title for this season… but the team will win invincibility," Chris began.

"Seeing as I want to see how Harold received these wounds, let's start with the Killer Champs!"

Taking Bingo's camera from his shaky hands, Chris uploaded the movie onto a nearby laptop.

* * *

As the "classic" music played in the background, a multitude of ways are shown regarding beating the crap out of Harold.

Duncan began the cycle, jabbing him in areas where most people would not want to be jabbed with a spiked boxing glove. At the same time, Courtney managed to take advantage of the not-as-well-hidden areas and whip them into oblivion, including his netherregions. Harold wal yelping, though the song still drove it out.

LeShawna began to pummel his face in, her eyes bloodshot. The camera cut to a whimpering Beth, Gwen attempting to soothe her nerves. Heather and Owen attempted to stop the onslaught, though a microwave and a thin set of limbs did not prove well.

The camera cut to Bingo, who barely managed to hold up the "Total Drama Tournament" logo before escaping.

* * *

"Well… that was… unique," Chris said, one eyebrow raised with suspicion. "Shall we move on to the Screaming Losers?"

Ezekiel handed the host the camera as Izzy came bounding in.

"Where have you been?" Justin asked, arms crossed. "We were called here ages ago!"

"I was just cleaning some things up," Izzy calmly responded. Before Justin could ask what, the laptop buzzed again as it began to air the second introduction.

* * *

The eight losers popped their heads up, and immediately hid them from sight of Chef, wielding a chainsaw and grinning evilly.

It cut quickly to Ezekiel and Trent, both having their faces blown away from the windstorm that they were driving their motorcycles in… or so it seemed.

The scene immediately swapped to Izzy and Eva, the former doing ninja poses as she escaped from a wild eagle, the egg in the crazy's right hand. Eva simply ran across, the egg unmoving in her hands.

Cutting left, Geoff and Bridgette were (once again) making out. A mighty foot from a robotic dinosaur was about to do them in, though he was a tad too disgusted to crush them.

At the same time, Noah and Justin were dueling it out with large bones over a large cliff. Noah somehow managed to jab the model and send him flying, though the bookworm also fell after a tad too hearty laugh.

Finally, the scene was cut to the sky. As it spiked upwards, fireworks displays of the sixteen contestants, Chef, Bingo, and Chris lit up the area, finally ending with the letters "TDT".

* * *

"WHAT WAS THAT?" Justin yelled, grabbing Izzy and Ezekiel. "I told YOU not to do anything, and I told YOU to stop her from doing anything! What is wrong with you guys?"

"Nothing. I figured it would gain us victory," Izzy said, shrugging one shoulder.

"I… thought it better not to interrupt her plans, eh?" Ezekiel peeped.

However, this conversation was paused by the uproar from the other contestants, intern, chef, and host.

"That… is how you start a television program! Victory definitely belongs to the Screaming Losers!" Chris announced. The losers gave an even louder cheer, and the winners abruptly stopped.

"But… we had everything that we needed! We brought justice to that little twerp!" Courtney argued.

"So? It's not Total Harold Tournament. Why'd you even focus it on him? And after all, did you SEE that? I was a fireworks display! That must've shaken the entirety of Canada! Losers win, and Winners lose! Pick your favorite loser… um… winner… er… just vote for someone!" Chris demanded, rewinding the footage. "Me as a fireworks display… I need to market that…"

* * *

**Author's Note: Yep… we're stopping juuuuust before the big elimination… or at least, the first elimination.**

**I can't help but wonder if two updates in around three days makes me seem either rushed or indecent… but frankly, I just wanted to make up for the updates I couldn't provide you. So now we're all friends, right? Please?**

**I thank you for reading, though you must excuse me so I can roll around more in the recent news E3-wise. Those who don't care about video games may start counting down the days until I update.**


	4. Day 1, Elimination: Social Studies

**Author's Note: Do I really need to write these for every single chapter? Probably.**

**Blah blah blah don't own most characters blah blah blah owned by Teletoon blah blah blah I only own Bingo and Stanley blah blah blah. Yes.

* * *

**

Harold paced outside of the cabins furiously, though his injuries did not make it a steady trip from one speck of dirt to the other. His good hand rested gently upon his chin, a pondering look on his face despite his raging footsteps.

"Why am I the target… why am I the target…" Harold repeated to himself, adjusting his hand as he spoke. "Three people want me out of here… but why…"

"Hey, there, Harold, ol' buddy!"

The nerd interrupted his walking back and forth to avert his attention to an approaching Owen, Stanley the microwave snug underneath one of his massive arms.

"Oh… it's you, Owen. I take it you're thinking me a conspiracy theorist after the last season still? If this is the case… I fear your time here will be abrupt," Harold spoke, adjusting his position to counter his damages.

"What? Ha ha ha ha…" Owen forced out a laugh. "That's… that's ridiculous! I'm not doing that… it was in the moment, you know? Build it up for the audience!"

Harold frowned.

"All right… but I want to put it all behind us and start on a new delicious cookie to decorate with the… mouth-watering frosting of friendship and…"

Owen would have continued, if he was not busy drooling at the mouth.

"Yeah… yeah, that's great and all, but I don't think you and I would make that great a team," Harold spoke in a settling tone of voice. "Perhaps if the time comes, I'll adjust my opinion on the subject. As for now… I must bid you farewell. Enjoy your… er… mental images."

With that, Harold limped out of reach from the large boy, his drooling increasing by the second. Fortunately, Stanley was not in the vicinity of the salt water.

* * *

"So it's official, then; Harold is taking the boot."

Duncan, Courtney, and LeShawna were gathered together near the Thousand-Foot Cliff, an ascending escalator added to coincide with the descending.

"Frankly, I couldn't agree more. He's scum! And he lost us the challenge!" Courtney yelled.

"Man, girl, you were the one who decided we should be beating him up!" LeShawna retorted.

"Oh, like you weren't enjoying it. It was stress-relief combined with slapstick! He just didn't suffer enough to lose!"

"Suffer enough? Girl, you've got him injured worse than Cody in season one. On the first day, that's suffering enough."

"The whip wasn't even used to its full potential! I went EASY on the bastard!"

Sparks flew from both ladies' eyes. Knowing not to mess with two scorned women, Duncan quickly boarded the escalator. Tapping on the side impatiently, he spied Gwen at the bottom. The punk grinned.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Because Mr. Necromancer won't keep us.**

**Duncan** – "If there's any girl on this show that I find as attractive or frightening as Courtney, it would have to be Gwen. Seeing as we're both lovers of the more… unknown side of fear, she should be putty in my hands."

* * *

"Hey, hey, hey!" Duncan greeted, giving a slight wave to Gwen. Unfortunately, not one, but two people were greeting Gwen at this time. Trent had just jogged up to her location.

The two men met, and glared at each other.

"Hello, Duncan," Trent spoke, his hands clenching into fists.

"Hey, Trent," Duncan replied, cracking his knuckles in a not-so-subtle manner.

"I take it you and Gwen were going to catch up with each other. Pretty convenient that you and my _girlfriend_ are _on the same team_," Trent spoke, spitting each word out.

"Yep."

"_All alone_."

"That's also true."

"Um… you guys?" Gwen attempted to butt in.

"Well, how'd YOU like it if I attempted to nab your girlfriend, punk?"

"One problem… you don't have the balls."

"You'd better take that back unless you want to lose yours."

"Oooh, I'm so scared. What are you going to do, acoustic me to death?"

"Guys! Come on!" Gwen interjected again, this time succeeding it. "What's the problem here, anyways?"

"He is!" Duncan and Trent responded, pointing to one another. "I am? You are! Stop doing that! No, you stop it! Stop commanding me to stop it!"

"All right… this is ridiculous. Duncan, you've already managed to win Courtney! Trent, what did I say the last time you got ridiculously jealous?" Gwen asked.

"You said it was cute?" Trent replied, grinning sheepishly. Gwen was not amused.

"I said it was one of the things that broke us up! And if you don't stop this soon… it'll probably be back to that."

Gwen paced away from the two men, each staring at each other. They both opened their mouths, and said…

"This is _your_ fault!"

* * *

Heather sighed as she began to pack her belongings. Even if Harold was eliminated (as most everyone was predicting), she'd be on the chopping block soon enough for being the bitch that everybody and their second cousins loathed with a vengeance.

The suitcases were filled with broken memories and broken bottles, the latter taking up a majority of space. She sighed again, and sat down.

"Heather?"

Out of the corner of an eye she managed to spot Beth, approaching with a small smile and… something in both hands.

"Thought you might be out here. The elimination is happening in a few more minutes, so I thought I'd warn you…"

Heather gave a look, but did not respond. Beth raised an eyebrow.

"You all right? It's not like you're going home tonight! I'm pretty sure we all know Harold is going tonight, so the least you could do is just wish him well!"

"Won't need it, Beth. Nothing half-decent would be able to come out of me."

She stood up again, noticing that the something was a very small Styrofoam cup.

"Scone?" Beth offered, handing Heather one of the cups. "I've been practicing since I don't think I can handle another of Chef's dishes. They're not bad, they're just a tad… bland."

Heather picked up the scone, and took a small nibble.

"This is… really good. Thank you, Beth" Heather said, giving a slight grin. Beth beamed.

"It's my pleasure, really. I knew that you would change eventually for the better."

"Don't get used to it, though," Heather warned. "It's still a game."

"True, true. Now how about we go to the elimination, hm?"

Heather nodded.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Bring us back home… please!**

**Beth** – "I knew that she'd change! I just knew it! Everybody's got to have a little good inside of him or her…

**Heather** – "Beth… has changed things. I'll just leave it at that." /She pauses momentarily to push up her topmost article of clothing. / "Stay up, dang it! I'm not Lindsay!"

* * *

A great fanfare erupted as the Killer Champs approached a large stadium-esque building, Chris' moniker planted all around the whole thing.

"Welcome… to the Chrisoseum!" the host's voice blared out of the building. "Enter as you may… for the elimination is about to begin!"

The contestants rolled their eyes, and entered. The interior was rather desolate, containing only a few metallic chairs and a large podium that Chris stood upon.

"Yeah… kinda spent a tad too much on the whole thing here. We managed to increase the budget with some little-known bonus or something to that extent… and that just managed to afford this. We've had better seasons… look, would you just sit down?"

The contestants agreed. Chris pulled out a large tray with several trophies upon it, each with handles.

"These… are Chris Cups. If you were NOT voted off, you will be the proud owner of a Chris Cup and will also agree to not sue us if the chocolate-covered contents give you any variety of stomach ulcer," Chris decreed. Owen's face lit up.

"There's more chocolate?" the chubby one asked, practically knocking Stanley off of his seat.

"Yes… though it's a bit, shall we say, different. Now then, when I call your name, come up here and claim your "delicious" reward. The contestant who does NOT receive a Chris Cup must immediately grab their belongings, board the Boat of Losers, and go somewhere much more relaxing. Now, then…

"Duncan, Courtney. You two are safe."

The duo grabbed their Chris Cups, and immediately lobbed them at Harold. Without the ability to dodge things, he was forced to take the blows head-on.

"Idiots! You could've given me a concussion to increase the drastic levels of pain that I have already received!" the nerd cried, though it was drowned out by the chuckling of the Harold-loathing team members.

"LeShawna!"

The sister grabbed her cup relatively quickly, and dared to unwrap it. The scent knocked out several high-flying pigeons.

"Whoa, guys… looks like that scent managed to get us sunk. I guess we're grounded," one pigeon remarked.

"Grounded? You saying I'm grounded? You saying I'm some misbehaving schoolchild punished by his parents, here to amuse you?" another pigeon yelled, waving a wing at the first.

"Hey, hey, calm down. We don't want trouble," a third pigeon said, leaving the stadium, the first two following, though the second did so whilst giving a death glare to the first.

"All right, then… Gwen, Owen, and Heather are also safe," Chris announced, though his attention was focused on the walking pigeons.

The three paced forward. Owen om-nom-nomed down his trophy immediately, a satisfied look on his face. Gwen lobbed hers in the direction of the pigeons. Heather looked at hers, and gave the slightest of smirks.

Beth and Harold looked at each other, fear and sweat visible on both of them.

"Contestants… this is the final Chris Cup of the evening. And it will go to…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

… Harold."

Chris half-heartedly tossed the trophy at Harold, once again leading to head trauma from the nerd. Afterwards, he was still able to produce a small cheer of "yes!" before fainting.

"What?" Beth asked.

"What?" Gwen questioned.

"WHAT?" Courtney screamed.

"Yeah, I know, it's a shocker. The votes don't lie, though. Beth is the first to go."

"There HAS to be a mistake. That little nerdling could NOT have been able to remain on this show! He… he probably cheated again! Making sure that he keeps his pathetic little self on this show because he's too greedy to be eliminated fair and square!" Courtney attempted to argue, but to no avail.

"Well… that's too bad. Of course, I did manage to get second on season two… at least, according to some countries. Oh well. See you all later!" Beth waved a goodbye before leaving.

"Huh. Beth, of all people, first to leave," Heather remarked. "That's… really something, isn't it?"

"I bet those losers will be taking it well," Duncan grumbled.

* * *

If the Losers were taking it well, it would be hard to determine from their celebrations.

Somehow managing to smuggle the necessities for partying into his baggage and hat, Geoff was the most celebrated member of the night. Various snacking items and fizzy beverages were placed all willy-nilly, and Noah was somehow placed behind a large turntable, where the bookworm managed to deliver a very good collection of dance music.

* * *

**Confession Cam – We weren't invited. Cameras like to party down as well!**

**Noah** – "How was I able to work the turntable? Heh heh heh… let's just say I have a very wide assortment of literature in the old home, and what kind of a man isn't without a few guilty pleasures?"

* * *

The only person who was not partying was Ezekiel, who was stretched out on a small patch of grass. He was facing a large, full moon, the likes rarely seen on the island beforehand. He heard footsteps, and adjusted his position to see who was approaching.

Bingo was slowly moving forward, due to the fact that he was also balancing a pair of soda bottles upon small paper plates with other sugary treats upon it.

"You mind if I sit down?" Bingo asked, finally able to place the plates. Ezekiel nodded.

"Why are you out here? A few of the members of your team are looking for ya," Bingo said, removing the cap from one of the bottles.

"I'm not sure, eh… I guess I think that the whole thing is a little out of reach for someone like me."

"Nonsense. You won, didn't you? And you were part of the whole thing that maintained your victory! If you didn't agree to Izzy's proposition… we might not be in this position."

"True… but Izzy was the one who set it up, eh? I was a mere cameraman."

"You… might not want to say that in front of this guy," Bingo said as he pointed to the camera wielder, tears streaming down his face.

"Oh! Oh… no, I didn't mean it that way, eh! We couldn't have the show without you!"

"YOU'RE JUST SAYING THAT TO MAKE ME FEEL GUILTY ABOUT MYSELF!" the cameraman blubbered incomprehensibly. Bingo picked up a small cupcake and threw it into the cameraman's open mouth. He chewed and swallowed, and continued his job as if nothing happened.

"How'd you do that, eh?"

"As an intern, you've gotta be able to learn about the habits of others."

They were silent for a moment.

"Listen… I'm going back to the party. Haven't seen one like that in ages. I'll just leave these here, but if you want to join us, be my guest… and Izzy's, for that matter. She's looking forward to you joining us the most."

With that, Bingo stood up and left, stopping only to give a thumbs-up to Ezekiel. The toque-wearer returned the favor, and stood up as well.

The plate stood still, only moving as a wandering bear stole it.

* * *

**Who voted for whom?**

**Owen** – "I just asked Stanley who he thought should go, and he said to vote for Beth. Who am I to argue with a microwave?"

**Duncan** – "What, are you crazy? Of course I vote for Harold! He's even worse now then ever, so he should be up for grabs rather easily."

**Harold** – "I vote for Duncan, if only because Courtney is easier on the eyes."

**Beth** – "I don't want to do this… but I have to vote for Harold. I don't think he can do us much good in the future with his… um… current issues."

**LeShawna** – "Finally, the stress is gone from beating up on sweet little Harold. I'd like to vote for that bigmouth Courtney… but I have to vote for Beth. Girl didn't do much, so what good can she do us when the challenges get bigger?"

**Heather** – "Sorry, Beth, but it's still a game. I must have your scone recipe, however."

**Courtney** – "I vote for **(Producer's Note: Due to the length of this segment, we will skip down to the last word. Thank you.)** Harold."

**Gwen** – "I'm voting for Beth, but only because there's no way she'll be eliminated and I'd like to see her gain some nerve when facing the perils of a stronger force. That… and she's kind of adorable when squirming for her life. Don't tell her I said that!"

* * *

**Duncan – 1**

**Harold – 3**

**Beth – 4**

**Eliminated: Beth

* * *

**

**Author's Note: Yeah… who saw this coming? Put your hands down, you lying swine; you didn't see it coming unless you're from the future. In which case… awesome.**

**Anyway, here's the return of your favorite section, questions to ponder…**

**Who's the good guy? Who's the bad guy? Who's just there to win?**

**Will the rivalries between members make relationships… or break them?**

**What's the deal with Bingo? Is he all that he says he is?**

**Will Harold recover from his injuries?**

**Will the Screaming Losers manage to win again, or will they fall when faced with the powers of the Killer Champs?**

**Just what's in a Chris Cup, and just who were those pigeons?**

**And finally… does this question regard the next challenge in any way, shape, or form?**

**I thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated for the sake of improving my work, though you are not entitled to do so.**


	5. Day 2: High Steaks

**Author's Note: I do not own the Total Drama franchise, nor any of the contestants, Chris, Chef, the animals, and the island itself. I do, however, own the character known as Bingo.**

With no raindrops in sight, Chris was able to start up the somewhat predictable introduction sequence.

"Last time, on Total Drama Tournament… the eight contestants that performed best and worst on the previous two seasons returned here with the chance at some more money… although from the rivalries that have been spreading, it looks like money is the least of their problems!

"Teams were divided into the Screaming Losers and the Killer Champs, and after a spin from our latest budget accident… er, purchase, we sent them out to design a brand new opening for this season.

"On the Losers' side, Justin managed to make a slight name for himself by taking the reins as the team leader, though an arguing Noah and a psychotic Izzy managed to knock him off his high, handsome horse. The Winners' weren't much better, seeing as they spent their time debating just how much pain they could deal to Harold!

"In a shocking twist, the Losers managed to obtain victory, and in another shocking twist, Beth was sent home, leaving a very bruised Harold to deal with his enemies.

"Will the Losers pull another upset? Will Harold be able to breathe on his own throughout the whole season? Find out right now, on Total… Drama… Tournament!"

* * *

The Killer Champs had managed to get to sleep hours ago. The females were resting peacefully, save for LeShawna's silhouette, which appeared to open and close… something, and the males were also sleeping, except for Harold, who was in a very awkward position due to his countless injuries.

The Screaming Losers were still partying, however, or at least a portion of them. Bingo, Izzy, Noah, Geoff and Ezekiel were still at it, though Noah was a tad tired of repeating the same few songs as a DJ repeatedly.

"Oh, c'mon! One more round of Guess the Picture!" Izzy cheered to an exhausted Geoff and Ezekiel. A nearby scrap of paper was scrawled with the teams, Izzy and Bingo leading by several dozen tally marks.

"Ugh… no thanks. I'm still weirded out on how you two always manage to win…" Geoff muttered, rubbing his head where his hat should have been.

"Well… I suppose one more game can't be that bad, eh?" Ezekiel asked. Geoff slapped his face, but nodded ever so slightly.

"HUZZAH!" cried out Izzy and Bingo, the latter plucking a small card and scribbling on it. When he was done, it looked much like a cross between chicken scratch and chicken crap. **(Author's Note: United States readers may wish to replace the word "crap" with the word "junk" to protect your innocent minds.)**

"Um… uh… a duck-billed librarian!" Izzy guessed, Bingo grinning in response. Grabbing a large hourglass from supposedly nowhere, the two announced "Yay! Two seconds!" at their ridiculously lucky guess.

Ezekiel sighed, and pulled out a card himself. A few minutes later, he managed to show a rather detailed drawing of a tiger.

"Oh, no… um… a puma? A boar? A tyrannosaurus? A quotation mark! A mole! A waffle iron! Underpants!"

A large buzzer blared, and it was Ezekiel's turn to slap his face.

"It's a tiger! A tiger! Ugh… can we please swap partners?" Ezekiel asked for the nth time, Izzy still shaking her head.

"You didn't want Bingo on your team, and now he's mine. Mine, I say!"

"But you've won for seventy-eight times in a row already! It's my turn to grab some of those victory snacks!" Geoff whined.

Indeed, Izzy was munching on a large handful of jelly beans, removed from a bowl labeled "Victory Snacks" in bold lettering.

"The snarfing goes to the victor, and for the next few minutes, my name has changed to Victor!" Izzy declared, to the applause of Bingo, now starting to swerve from side to side.

"You all right, eh? You look a tad… woozy," Ezekiel noted to Bingo.

"It's all good… I suppose that the alcohol content in those lemonade-like beverages are getting the best of me…"

"Bingo, I'm fairly sure that was animal urine," Izzy said in all seriousness.

Bingo looked at Izzy for a few moments, and quickly ran off to deliver the first true vomiting session of the season.

* * *

As the birds chirped to celebrate the new morning, Gwen managed to pry her eyes open. Giving off a large yawn, she began to go off on her daily routine.

However, a pale arm managed to catch her bathrobe before she could leave the "comfort" of the wooden bed. Heather managed to yank herself up with the usage of the black outfit before she could get a good view of Gwen's face.

"You and I need to have a small chat. Why on Earth did you vote off Beth? What did she do to you, hm?" Heather interrogated quickly, leaning forward with every word.

"I… I don't know! Leave me alone! I need to wash this awful taste out of my mouth…"

"That is the taste of guilt… so cough up! Tell me why you voted for Beth!"

Gwen heaved a large sigh.

"All right, just get off of me. It all started back during the beginning of Total Drama Action. Trent and I were not at our best part of our relationship at that time.

"For some reason, Trent kept picking those girls, and I retorted with the choosing of males. I wanted to forget that even happened, but I still see it a bit every time I look at him."

"So that was it? You voted for an innocent girl just so you can forget about the events of your freaking past?" Heather asked.

Gwen gave a slight nod.

"That's… terrible! You just had to think that your little past is more important than another's future. You are horrible, you know that?" Heather said, adjusting her hair to get it out of her face.

"Well, you voted for her as well!"

"Hello? I'm the strategist? It's my duty to think of the pros and cons of elimination! I cast my vote with my thoughts, not my emotions!"

"You ate her freaking scones!"

"You lied to her face!"

Before either one had any idea, they had managed to slam right into each other, sending them both tumbling to the cabin floor. Surprisingly, they were the only ones there.

Heather looked down to the Gothic girl, as Gwen looked up as the strategist.

There was a brief silence, and the two than began to kiss.

It was only a few seconds before it turned into, for lack of better words, making out. Moans were resonating from both of them as they played the game of tag with their tongues.

They briefly stopped, looked at each other, and began to remove each other's articles of clothing…

A clock rang.

Harold woke up in a heap, tripping over his own wounds. However, the nerd did not seem to notice the fall, as his eyes were once again in their own little world.

"That was awesome…" he managed to mutter.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Not involved in any dream sex.**

**Heather** – "Why do I feel like asking Gwen on why she eliminated Beth?"

**Gwen** – "Why do I feel like strangling Harold and beating him to the ground?"

* * *

As the fifteen contestants swallowed down their food, Chris came running in, fists sweeping his sides.

He skidded to a halt in the middle of the mess hall, rose an index finger, and announced "It's that time again!"

"To increase dramatic tension by having out-of-team arguments?" Trent grumbled, giving a death glare to Duncan.

"To talk about how handsome I am?" Justin asked, flexing.

"No… it's time to find out today's challenge! And to do so, we turn to the Wheel of Challenges!"

With that, Chris waved his arms to the right as Chef and Bingo shoved the rusty wheel to the host's hand. Chris gave a slight whirl to the wheel, saying…

"_Wheel of Challenges, spin spin spin_

"_Tell us the challenge we'll partake in…_

"Challenge number two! That's convenient. And the challenge for today is…"

The fax machine printed out another sheet of paper, which Chris grabbed. His eyes glanced over the sheet before they promptly expanded, and two words managed to escape Chris' mouth.

"Oh boy."

"Oooh, the suspense. Just what kind of hectic mayhem will await us in this challenge to end all challenges?" Noah gave the much-needed sarcastic remark.

"Well, it just might be the challenge to end all challenges, actually…" Chris remarked, silencing the cast.

"So you remember that we had our first elimination recently, yes?" Chris asked, to nods from all except LeShawna, who rose an eyebrow but kept her mouth shut.

"And I asked you to give your reasons for each elimination, yes?"

No one nodded.

"Don't tell me. I forgot to tell you to give the reasons."

"That, or we're really good at lying," Duncan muttered.

"All right, so it's my fault, but the thing that matters here is that I got stunt-doubles to make up false reasons for your votes. Frankly… they could have done a hell of a lot better."

"What's that supposed to mean, Chris?" Gwen questioned, arms crossed once again.

"It _means_ that the fanbase is pissed! If the fanbase is pissed, it means that no one watches the show, which means I'm getting a thinner paycheck… and that's not happening anytime soon, believe me.

"So today's challenge is all about you guys getting the fanbase to be excited again. I've gotten a bit of contact with the heads of the fanbase, and they demand… well, Chef will show you."

The burly cook sighed, and went to the kitchens. A few minutes later, he returned pushing a large wheelbarrow, several boxes upon them.

"Dare I ask what the contents are of those crates?" Harold said, gesturing uncomfortably.

Chef pried a box open with a crowbar, wielding what appeared to be hundreds of…

"Steaks?" Heather asked.

"Yup. You've gotta sell steaks to the fans. It's pretty simple," Chris began. "Teams will go around individually trying to sell the steaks, and if you succeed, good for you.

"There are no limits on how much you can sell these steaks for, but the budget is really going downhill. Each of you has to make… say, five-hundred dollars a piece? The team to get the required amount first will win immunity, unless this is a prize challenge. Bingo?"

"Immunity and a steak apiece, sir!"

"Thank you, Bingo. Immunity and a steak for each member. So… I think you've heard enough out of me. Get out there and sell those steaks or something. I'm off to bask in my own glory."

With that, Chris left the contestants, now running frantically outside to sell some meat.

A squirrel, munching on a small acorn, thought he saw one of them attempting to sell meat to a microwave. The chippy fellow held the acorn away from him with a disgruntled look on his face, and tossed it aside.

* * *

The sun shone down rather harshly upon the forehead of Noah, who was pacing rather slowly through the crowded streets. Of course, the word "crowded" here means "uninterested in whatever the hell that kid with the rectangular head is selling."

Exhausted, the cynic took a seat upon a stone staircase. A few seconds passed before he was approached.

"Hello, there. I believe that you've come to join our little society?"

Noah jumped, and glanced at the voice's owner, who appeared to be a very large man wearing a purple cloak.

"Society?" Noah managed to say. The cloak wearer pointed his head to the right, leading to a sign labeled "Alliance of People who Kiss Ears".

"That was an accident! And I'm not gay, so don't even bother bringing that up, because I KNOW that it will be brought up!"

"Calm down, calm down, we know of your predicament. It was a small joke. After all, we do revere you as a god among us ear-kissing types."

Noah blinked.

"That was also a joke."

"Yeah, great," Noah muttered. "Well, it was great learning of this fine society you have here, but I have some meat to sell."

The purple-cloaked man rose an eyebrow. "Do you have food?"

"That's the idea… unless these were cooked by Chef, in which case they are death with a slight hint of beef."

The cloak wearer gave a slight smile, but regained seriousness immediately. "Look, kid, the annual banquet's coming up, and I'm out on… practically everything that one could bring to a banquet. Sell me one of those steaks, could ya?"

It was Noah's turn to smirk.

"Five-hundred dollars."

"For a damn steak?"

"Take it or leave it. Would you prefer going to your precious meal with no sustenance?"

The man grumbled, but fished out some bills. Noah grabbed them, and hoisted a large, frozen steak into the man's hands.

"Pleasure doing business with you, now never speak to me again," Noah blandly stated, slowly stepping away from the purple-cloaked man, who was eyeing the steak as a vulture eyes a corpse.

A few seconds passed before LeShawna approached the same man, though her bloodshot eyes and gritting teeth did not entirely make the purple-cloaked man comfortable with the situation. He attempted to escape, but was brought down by the large lady, who put him in a pseudo-nelson.

"Do you like steak?" LeShawna asked in the most menacing way possible.

"Um."

"ANSWER THE QUESTION!"

"I like steak! I like living as well, but steak beats it!"

"Then perhaps you'd buy one?"

"Well, I just bought-"

The chokehold became significantly tighter.

"OK! OK! I'll buy a steak!" the cloaked man gasped. LeShawna let him free, grabbed his wallet, removed the bills, and placed the frozen steak on top of Noah's.

The purple-cloaked man gathered himself, and went back to the building owned by the Alliance of People who Kiss Ears to have a rather long conversation with the psychiatrist that lived in the next apartment.

* * *

Sirens blared throughout the bank. As the spooked pedestrians managed to lift themselves from the ground, two officers entered the facility.

"Officers Pin and Tulip of the Royal Canadian Segway Police. Care to explain the incident?" Officer Pin asked a nearby teller, who was occupying herself by shaking uncontrollably. **[1]**

"It was... well… er… um… that is…"

"Spit the _ing thing out!" Officer Tulip commanded.

"It was an orange-haired girl! She appeared out of nowhere and blew up one of the main vaults! Then she was followed by a boy with a green mohawk!" the teller screamed, her shaking developing into something much worse.

"Hm. Can you tell us how much money was stolen in the process?" Officer Pin asked, jotting down a few notes on a small pad.

"One thousand dollars total."

Officer Pin stopped writing.

"You're making such a big deal on the loss of only a thousand dollars?"

"It was all we had in the damn safe! And they broke the safe, which must now be repaired! We LOSE! GOOD DAY, SIR!"

With that, the teller quickly moved to the fetal position, muttering the word "blue" repeatedly for some reason.

"This business is not _ing worth it," Officer Tulip muttered.

"Would you stop saying 'ing?' It's frightening me," Officer Pin remarked.

"Blah. Shove it up your _ing arse."

On the other side of the bank, Izzy and Duncan shared a high-five as they counted out five-hundred separate bills each.

* * *

A large crowd gathered near the small opera house. There weren't any tickets sold, and yet the seats were already being filled to view the baritone atop the stage.

Performing a rather beautiful selection of "The Barbershop of Seville," the audience members silently conversed amongst themselves regarding the performance.

"I swear, those high notes from a baritone… quite moving."

"Why can't this opera house be filled more often?"

"I'm hungry!"

"Shut up, food boy!"

Several could not converse, but that would be due to the fact that they were a tad busy weeping with joy.

When the performance ended, the crowd responded with a standing ovation.

"Thank you! Now, if you would be so kind to take a steak and leave a donation, it would be greatly appreciated!" the baritone proclaimed. The audience received their meats and left hefty amounts of bills in their place.

When the entire audience was cleared, Eva left the stage, grabbed the bills and left in a rush, hoping that an encore would not be requested.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Figaro?**

**Eva** – "Don't ask. You tell, you live with no spine."

* * *

"For the last time, I am NOT a prostitute!"

Fighting off what may have been the seventy-third drooling man, Heather paced angrily through the streets. She refused to sell the steaks to any person who would treat steak as a sex symbol, though she feared that the only people who thought that were pig pornographers, which is a type of person she did not want to run in to.

During the constitutional, she viewed several people running from an abandoned opera house to a no-longer-abandoned theater. The words "HUMOROUS HAROLD" shined from a large neon sign above it. The strategist rolled her eyes, but entered anyways.

"Um… tickets?"

Heather groaned, and turned to the very masculine ticket collector.

"Look. I KNOW that my breasts are practically falling out of my shirt, but shut up and take a steak," she mumbled, shoving the meat into his hands. The man blinked, and then began to gnaw upon it.

She entered, took a seat, and looked up at the show, already in progress.

"So I was sleeping one morning, and then I woke up with this thought in my head: did the Terminator have genitals?"

Laughs resonated as Harold began another pretty nerdy chain.

"I mean, he was designed to be human, so why wouldn't they put it there? Question remains, of course, what happens if he gets in the mood? I imagine that you wouldn't need to buy oil for him for a good while!"

More laughs. Heather rolled her eyes once again.

"And Mario! I mean, come on, the guy's been saving the princess for ages, and not once has he actually gone in for some quality time! Eight worlds is not good enough for just one peck on the cheek, y'know!"

Guffaws galore.

"The next guy who asks me if I prefer red sauce or marinara is going to have a red sauce of his own coming down from his lower lip."

Chuckles aplenty.

"How come it takes more than one squirrel to change a light bulb? BECAUSE THEY'RE SO DARN STUPID!"

This continues for about twenty minutes, after which a majority of the audience realized that sitting around listening to a nerd do a comedy routine is not the best way to spend one's time, and left to do things that probably aren't productive.

"Um," Harold "um"ed, looking at the one remaining person, Heather.

"Yeah, great work. Are you done here so I can go sell my own steaks?" Heather asked, tapping a foot impatiently.

"Is it my own fault that you do not understand the simple to learn, and complex to master art of comedy? Gosh!"

"You spent five minutes talking about the word "kumquat!" That is not interesting, or funny, or ANYTHING!"

"But… kumquat! Kumquat island! Kumquats from space! These are sentences that make for the chuckling!"

"'Make for the chuckling?' You seem like your having words put into your mouth. Did you even make any money?"

Harold grinned.

"Only a thousand dollars. Perhaps you'd enjoy splitting it with me, halfsies?" Harold asked, extending a hand to what Heather presumed where the money was.

"You do realize that's bending the rules, right?"

Harold shrugged.

"I've already made this much by only doing stand-up. Being a semi-decent Samaritan shouldn't be too bad. That being said, are you in or not?"

Heather smirked.

"All right. But you're taking the blame if this plan goes astray, hm?" Heather asked.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, m'lady," Harold responded, attempting to cup Heather's hand in his.

"What are you doing?" the strategist asked.

"I'm trying to kiss your hand like a gentleman! Give me a break, here!"

Heather struggled for a few more seconds, but eventually gave in.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Can't do stand-up, since it can't stand.**

**Heather –** "Yeah, yeah, Harold's acting like a gentleman for now. But if I know that guy, he was probably making an excuse for looking at my cleavage."

**Harold** – "I sure hope Heather didn't think I was trying to look at her cleavage. It's tempting, but a true gentleman does not fall under such spells so easily!

"Even… if… I caught a quick glance." \Harold wrings his hands uneasily.\

* * *

Officer Pin rode his segway quickly to the opera house, though Eva had long ago fled the scene.

"Nothing. Again! This is a dark day for the RCSP, eh, Officer Tulip?"

Officer Pin turned around, noticing that Officer Tulip was occupying his time viewing a nearby sculpture.

"And would you look at the _ing details on this _ing thing! It's like the _ing artist put his _ing life into it!" Officer Tulip raved.

"Officer Tulip, not to rain on your parade, but we still need to find where those accursed criminals are. Even if it's merely a thousand dollars, it's still a robbery!"

That being said, the smaller one's attention turned to Harold and Heather, speaking to Noah. The nerd was carrying a rather large suitcase.

"Officer Tulip, correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't suitcases usually used for carriage of valuables during heists?" Officer Pin asked, his eyes still on the three teens.

"Well, that's the _ing stereotype. Could probably _ing work," Officer Tulip grumbled.

"Well, then, let us investigate. Get on your segway and stop saying 'ing' so much. It's still unsettling."

With that, the segway-riding cops slowly scooted towards the three teens, who had now gone their separate ways.

"Damn. Tulip, you're chasing the rectangle guy. I'll handle the guy with the suitcase."

* * *

"You know, some say that a coffee shop is the best friend with a guy with big dreams and an acoustic guitar. And after seeing you guys here… I'm willing to agree."

Polite applause resonated through Café Marrón, a local coffee shop, and in the basements, local drug trading headquarters. Ignoring the overbearing scent of burning tobacco, Trent began to strum another few chords on a guitar borrowed from the owner, who was counting counterfeit bills for the drug lords.

It was at this time that Trent did what is somewhat loathed on the grand old stage of Total Drama, and that is sing.

_"I may have a handprint on my shirt_

_That looks a bit disfigured._

_I thought you may not like it,_

_Oh yes, that's what I figured."_

"YOU CAN'T RHYME LIKE THAT, YOU IDIOT!" a very angry, bespectacled man yelled from the crowd, who in his anger tossed a cup of chai tea at the singer.

"_Oh, camo may not be my color,_

_Since better have passed by,_

_But when you compliment my looks,_

_It shall stay here for all time."_

More people were getting the general idea that obnoxious songs in coffee shops were not the best source of amusement, and after sitting in a crowded theater listening to stand-up, they were not entirely patient.

Fortunately, the owner had just opened a stand for overripe produce and scalding beverages for tossing purposes. The audience ran, and the owner counted out more money.

_"You toss tomatoes at my head_

_I barely can avoid._

_It does go without saying_

_That I am fairly annoyed."_

"YOU HAVE THE VOCAL TALENT OF A TEA CUP!"

"_If I were dainty as a flow'r_

_Over the babbling stream,_

_I'd still beat the crap out of you_

_For you, sir, are quite mean."_

"YOUR LYRICS ARE LESS IMPRESSIVE THAN AN EARTHWORM!"

_"If singing songs just blows your jets_

_Then get out of my sight;_

_Or do you want to break your nose_

_In a guitar-related fight?"_

"YOUR VERSES FOLLOW ROUGHLY THE SAME PLOT OF "LOST;" THAT IS TO SAY, NONE AT ALL!"

_"Well, maybe you should shut up now_

_Before I do so for you._

_So now I'll take five-hundred bucks_

_And this crappy guitar, too!"_

As he sang this, Trent sneaked down to the owner, nabbed his money, and escaped, a cry of "_I'm out of characterrrrrrrrrrrr!"_ and a frantic strumming ending what could be considered the worst song in history. **[2]

* * *

**

Under most circumstances, a microwave stuck underneath one's shirt does not work that well as camouflage for aforementioned portable heating device.

Most circumstances do not include Owen.

The lovable oaf was simply strolling through town attempting to sell steaks, rewarding himself with one for each successful sale. Unfortunately, many a consumer was more interested in purchasing Stanley then a mold-covered piece of meat, so it was more Owen eating all of the steaks than anything else.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Owen stopped mid-chew to turn to a very well-dressed man, a very stupid hat upon his very smug head.

"Mmfgh?" Owen grunted.

"It's alright. I can wait for you to swallow."

Owen dry-swallowed the uncooked meat, giving a mighty belch that reeked of salmonella.

"Mmmm… rawness. Anyway, can I help you, sir?" Owen asked, adjusting the position of Stanley.

"Well, sir, I was wondering what you are currently hiding in your shirt," the man asked, staring at Stanley.

"What? There isn't anything! Nope! Definitely not! No sir! Not at all! Lacking in hiding objects! Empty! Barren! Vacant! Desolate!"

"I get it," grumbled the man. "However, since I have no need for those steaks and I have some cash to spend, I figured you'd be the guy to go to. Just… show me the dang contents!"

Owen sighed, and exposed Stanley the microwave to the man. His eyes shined.

"Ah… do you know the value of this microwave oven, good sir? This is a well-designed, class Q Heat-Em-All 42! Any regular schmuck who could get their hands on such a microwave oven as this is either very lucky or very stupid."

It was, of course, at this time that Owen decided to start playing show tunes with his armpits.

"Let's no longer beat around the bush, hm? I am willing to offer five-hundred dollars for that microwave of yours. Do we have a deal?"

Owen paused "Chicago" to turn to the man once again.

"Well, I dunno… Stanley and I have had some great times together…"

A brief montage of Owen and Stanley frolicking through a field, munching on Chef's food, partaking in video games, placing a "Kick Me" sign on Noah, and doing the can-can is shown.

Owen's eyes swelled with tears.

"I'm sorry, guy, but Stanley is my best friend in this cruel, terrible world! We've been together as long as I can remember, through thick and thin, storm and rain, and no offer of pitiful money can tear us apart!"

"I'll throw in a pass to an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Deal, here ya go!"

Owen thrusted the microwave into the man's hands, several bills and a small slip of paper falling into Owen's own paws.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you," the smart-dressed man bade farewell, walking relatively quickly for a man who just purchased a microwave.

"Bye! Hope to see you soon!" Owen waved back. "He he… now I can go back to win that challenge! Isn't that right, Stanley?"

Owen looked around.

"Stanley?"

Realization finally dawned on the poor sap.

"STANLEY!"

* * *

**Confession Cam – Stanley?**

**Owen** – "Oh, I've been such a fool! Letting go my best friend like that… and now I'll never see him again. Baaaa ha ha ha! /Owen blows his nose in a large handkerchief./ "What good is winning a challenge when you lose your best friend in the process?"

* * *

Officer Pin's segway sputtered as he chased the limping Harold and politely chuckling Heather through the not-so-crowded Canadian city. Unfortunately, not even arm extension could stop the duo.

"Get back here! You have money which needs to be returned! Stop ignoring the man on a segway!"

Unfortunately, a small pebble managed to sneak its way into the segway, knocking the officer out. Officer Tulip rode in front of him a few seconds later, in order to show a _ing great example of Canadian architecture. Let's ignore these idiots.

* * *

Geoff and Bridgette were occupying their time in the way that best fit them, which conveniently turned out to be making out heavily in front of a busy intersection. Fortunately for them, the Canadian population loves a good make-out session, and tossed bills and coins into Geoff's overturned hat.

Bridgette then pushed Geoff away momentarily.

"Anything wrong, babe?" Geoff asked, rubbing his face to rid of any excess saliva.

"We're supposed to be working to make money, not just making out like cretins! Why don't we get out there and do the challenge?" Bridgette asked back, between large breaths.

"Well, I've counted out the money in my hat so far, and it's more than enough for us to get the money Chris asked for, so why bother?"

"Geoff, this isn't just about our relationship, all right? I want to be able to prove to myself that I can win this challenge fair and square without having to resort to sex!"

Geoff shrugged.

"All right, babe, but I'm taking my cash. If you want to do it, then I won't stop you."

With that, Geoff headed back to the camp. Bridgette sighed, picked up a crate of steaks, and headed out to sell.

* * *

"And here's your portrait. That'll be one-hundred, if you could."

A young woman paid Gwen the required amount and walked off, a watercolor barely representing her person in hand. Gwen chuckled.

"I can't believe these guys just spend all this money on crap. I could just do this and leave the show and get more than the prize money!"

"I wouldn't be so sure."

Gwen turned around. There stood Bingo, a clipboard in his hands and a frown on his face.

"Only idiots will buy these things, and not everyone is an idiot. It's better to concentrate on the job at hand then to let one's mind wander. Furthermore…"

Gwen grinned.

"You want a portrait, don't you?"

Bingo stopped speaking, but shortly afterward uttered a slight "maybe."

Gwen picked up a nearby palette and began to toss together random colors.

"So, how'd you end up as Chris' flunky, anyhow?" Gwen asked between pointless brush swipes.

"An intern's an intern, I suppose. It actually pays relatively well, and as long as I'm here, Chris will just give me the work to do so he can relax and leave you guys alone," Bingo explained.

Gwen could not comprehend much more of what Bingo said, as she was a tad busy imagining a world with no Chris. By the end of her painting, it turned out to represent Bingo's portrait in a recognizable fashion. The intern glanced at the portrait, cocked an eyebrow, and placed a bill in her free hand.

* * *

Geoff whistled a tune as he walked, counting out the bills in his hat from his makeout session. A shadow quickly ran beside him, snagging five-hundred dollars, and left as quickly as he came. Geoff blinked, but kept whistling, for Geoff is not the sharpest crayon in the box.

* * *

Bridgette was not successful in selling raw meat without use of sexual ploys, it seemed. The people who she asked already bought some from opera singers or comedians or crappy musicians, and had no time for a lovely young woman.

"Not so lucky right now, are we?"

Bridgette turned around, a hint of fear visible in your eyes. There stood Courtney, a smirk on her face and money in both hands.

"Not so lucky?" Bridgette repeated. "All the money I got was from me and Geoff making out on the streets! I don't want to win like that!"

Courtney chuckled.

"Well, sex does sell. My shirt ended up lower than Heather's as I sold those things. Of course, as long as I got the money, that means that I'm a winner in my books. I'll look forward to my team obtaining victory for once, all thanks to my impressive selling skills and leadership powers, and admittedly, the old whip…"

Bridgette grinned slightly, and vamoosed from the ever-chatting girl. In the process, she ran into a person many thanks to her cursed land movement skills.

"Oh… I'm very sorry about that. I'm a bit clumsy when not in the water," Bridgette explained, pushing herself up.

"That's perfectly alright, miss. I…" the man began, but was interrupted by the sight of the steaks.

"Excuse me, but are those steaks?"

Bridgette looked down at the meat, and gave a slight nod.

The man looked at the surfer, than at the meat, and the surfer, and the meat. A slight hint of frothing madness was visible in his eyes.

"STEAK!" the man shouted, fists clenched with a maddened craving, or simple madness. "STEAAAAAAK!"

The man kept shouting the word, including as he chased Bridgette through the cities, trampling Officers Pin and Tulip in the process.

"Watch where you're running for your life, dang it!" Officer Pin yelled, shaking a bruised fist.

"I think you mean '_,'" Officer Tulip muttered.

* * *

Ezekiel breathed, and stepped upon a large soap box. His toque was swapped with a black bowler cap, oddly, and a small stick was in his left hand.

"Steeeeeeep right up, eh? Get yourself some priiiiiime Total Drama steaks! Upon each of these succulent treasures to the mouth is the moniker of one of your favorite characters! Is that Duncan's mohawk on that T-bone? Is Harold's beard on your filet? And is that the lovable Owen on your prime rib? You'll never know until you buy a Total Drama steak!

"At just a measly twenty-five dollars per delicious meaty substance, you won't be able to stop chowing down! Eat up Eva, nibble Noah, crunch on Cody, inhale Izzy; you might even be able to find Chris and Chef Hatchet! So come on up and order your Total Drama steaks, available for a limited time!

"And that's not all! If you act now and act quickly, you'll get yourself a free steak for every one you purchase! These aren't any ordinary steaks, of course; they have none other than Bingo G. Nib, the newest intern, carved into their flesh! Whether you want to give him a hug or give him a punch to the noggin, you can just say goodbye to him by om-nom-nomming his little head off!

"So don't delay, pedestrians! Buy your Total Drama steaks here and now! Just twenty-five dollars per steak!"

The horrible, meaty stampede that followed was much too tragic, and delicious, to narrate the events of.

* * *

A wall in an alley stood still, thinking the regular thoughts that a wall in an alley should.

For the unenlightened, these thoughts were ranging from "What is my purpose here? Am I being all that a wall in an alley should, and can, be? Is it not possible for me to increase my abilities?" to "Man, that other wall over there is looking fine. That is one fine, FINE wall. Now I kinda wish I could move so that wall and I could have sexual relations."

However, at this moment, the only thought was "I'm about to be run into by a young woman with a crazed, meat-craving man."

Naturally, the thought process is not always happy.

"All right, little lady…" the man growled, his frothing demands for the steaks increasing, "I've finally got you here!"

"What is it you want from me?" Bridgette wailed, her body curled into a corner.

"What do I want? What do I WANT?"

A brief silence.

"I want to buy all of your steaks."

Bridgette's jaw did not move.

* * *

It was roughly a half-hour before all of the competitors managed to safely return to the island. Oddly enough, no one rushed their step, seeing as everyone somehow knew that nobody arrived without the five-hundred dollars.

When the fifteen safely made it in front to Chris, the host sighed deeply.

"All right, so you all made it with the money, and arguably made it here at the exact same time. However, there are a few of you who did not get the money in the proper way that was asked of you, and for once, I am going to care about the rules on this show!

"Bingo here went around and followed your every action, so he can tell me who sold the steaks and who got their money… some other way. Bingo?"

The intern stepped forward, Chef Hatchet looking at him with utter scorn.

* * *

**Confession Cam – How appropriate. He looks like a cow!**

**Chef** – "I don't know 'bout you, but that intern just has a vibe that I don't like. The kid's trying to be the second-in-command, and where does that leave me, hm? Out of a job, that's where! I've gotta get rid of that kid… but he's already getting to know those scrawny punks! This is going to be harder than I thought."

* * *

"As Chris said, I've been watching your every move and writing it down. I'll call your names one by one and tell you if you qualified."

"Time restraint here!" a cameraman yelled out.

"Fine," Bingo grumbled. "I'll just say the names of those who did NOT qualify from each team, starting with the Screaming Losers.

"Eva… Justin… Izzy… Geoff… and Trent. You five are not safe by obtaining the money from opera, petty theft, major theft, sex, and terrible singing, respectfully."

Noah, Bridgette, and Ezekiel shaked their heads, Noah in surprise of Eva's opera skills. Bridgette in disappointment, and Ezekiel in confusion.

"As for the Killer Champs," Bingo began, "those who did not obtain their money properly include Owen, Gwen, Heather, Duncan, and Harold. It's a tie!"

"Not exactly," Chris popped in. "The Screaming Losers had three contestants properly sell their steaks, compared to the Killer Champs' two. By those decisions…

"The Screaming Losers are, once again, the winners!"

"But we're short a competitor!" Harold complained, though to no avail.

The eight celebrated rather loudly… again. Noah, Bridgette, and Ezekiel were lifted up by the other five, the three who saved the group sharing a close hug, Noah smirking slightly and Ezekiel blushing furiously as Izzy propped herself up and joined in.

* * *

**Confession Cam – Where were we for half the chapter?**

**Noah** – "Excellent. Once again, I have proven that the cynical way always beats the pretty way. Never underestimate the powers of beef on an empty platter."

/Noah stops momentarily, eyes wide./

"I'm out of touch. I'd better start mocking these guys more often."

**Ezekiel** – "What just happened, eh?"

* * *

"As for you, so-called Killer Champs, I will see you again later. And this time, give your reason so I don't have to go through this again, hm?" Chris asked, rolling his eyes and strolling away.

"All right, why didn't you guys just go through with the challenge normally?" Courtney asked the team, her "arguing" face ready.

"I had to sell my _best friend_ for this! Give me a break!" Owen cried, his arms still where they were when holding Stanley.

"I was imagining a world with no Chris. You'd do the same, oh wise leader," Gwen grumbled, with enough sarcasm to make Noah gasp for air.

"Who'd buy steaks from a guy with lethal wounds? I just did a comedy routine," Harold said, a hint of distaste aimed at Courtney as he adjusted himself in the cast.

"You're not going to hate me," Duncan stated, grinning evilly. Courtney opened her mouth to argue, but closed it immediately, due to the fact that it was now making contact with Duncan's.

"So, what'd you do, Heather?" Gwen asked, in place of the sexually-deprived leader.

"I… um… Harold gave me some money," the strategist peeped.

Whether more eyes were glaring at Harold or Heather is a question that will remain unanswered.

* * *

The Killer Champs once again stepped in unison into the Chrisoseum, the dramatic music and annoying echo effect still in place. As the seven took their place on the chairs, Chris stepped in, wielding the same platter, minus one trophy.

"All right… so you're back here. Again. Sucks for you, doesn't it?" Chris taunted.

"Would you just hand out the trophies already?" LeShawna demanded, her sanity seemingly back in place.

"When did you get your sanity back in place?" Harold repeated the narrator, LeShawna giving the nerd a strange look in response.

"Hello? Show happening?"

Attention was once again brought to Chris.

"I have here six delectable Chris Cups, this time probably not provoking any animal rights activists by knocking out pigeons."

Of course, it was at this time that a pair of rats wandered their way into the stadium-esque locale.

"But, gee, Brain, isn't it a bit hard to be finding stuff to build your thing on this island? Narf!" the taller rat spoke.

"Nonsense, Pinky. The scale here detects an enormous amount of radioactive energy from this point. By harnessing its powers, we can create a product that will allow us to take over the world!" the smaller rat replied.

"Chef?" Chris asked the muscleman, who sucked up the two pests with a convenient vacuum cleaner.

"Now then. Whoever does NOT receive a chunk of brown, edible substance must immediately leave to someplace much nicer, but lacking in cash prizes of seven-hundred and fifty thousand or whatever it is we're promising you this season. Either way, when I call your name, I'll give you a half-hearted lob and we'll all be very happy.

"The first person safe is Courtney!"

The C. I. T. grabbed her trophy with a smug look on her face.

"LeShawna!"

The sister snagged her trophy.

"Gwen… and Duncan!"

As the two reached for their chocolate immunity, their hands met as the foil-covered crud broke upon the ground. The hands stayed at their places for a few moments before being forcefully torn apart by Courtney.

"Harold!"

The nerd cocked an eyebrow, but caught the trophy, albeit with his teeth.

Owen and Heather glanced at each other, and then at the one remaining trophy.

"I have one trophy left on the platter, and it goes to…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…Owen."

The trophy was tossed to the chubby one, but he handed it to Heather.

"I'm sorry, Chris, but I fear that I can no longer participate in this competition. Without Stanley, this whole thing just seems… kind of pointless and drab. I'd much rather have Heather do her best in this competition than have me be a downer on the whole thing."

Without another word, Owen strolled out of the Chrisoseum, his head hanging downward and a few tears visible.

"The rest of you, out. This place needs to be top-notch when you guys go here again. Seriously! Gain some skills!" Chris demanded.

* * *

In a small home, on the corner of a small suburb, a microwave pulled its own plug out of the socket. It maneuvered its way down off of its shelf, and towards the ajar front door by a large pulley system.

A harsh wind storm blew behind it as it tumbled away, but it knew where it was going.

Stanley the microwave wanted revenge.

* * *

**Who voted for whom?**

**Owen** – "I'll vote for myself. Maybe then I can meet up with Stanley."

**Gwen** – "Heather. Not only is she still a whiny little snob, but doing practically nothing won't get you friends."

**Heather** – "As much as it pains me to do so, my vote goes to Harold. It's just strategy, right?"

**LeShawna** – "Now, I don't remember what happened at all in this challenge, but I'm still voting for that string bean. Heather is out of here!

**Duncan** – "All right, no more flukes. This time Harold goes home!"

**Courtney** – "As much as I want to vote for that scumball Harold… I have to go with Heather for doing practically nothing."

**Harold** – "I vote for Owen, if only because those beans are getting to me."

**Owen – 2**

**Harold – 2**

**Heather – 3**

**Eliminated: Beth, Owen**

_**[1] Points for those who get the origin of Pin and Tulip.**_

**_[2] All right, so there have been worse. You know what I mean!_  
**

**Author's Note: With that, the longest single chapter comes to an end, and we say good-bye to Owen. Will we see any more of the big oaf? Time will tell.**

**As for now, here are your questions to ponder.**

**Where was Justin? And what's this about petty theft?**

**What happened to Officers Pin and Tulip? Will we ever see those… guys… again?**

**Will Harold ever be fixed up from his… condition?**

**Why do I the ellipsis so much?**

**Did you partake in the new poll? Did you even KNOW there was a new poll?**

**I thank you for reading, skimming, or doing whatever it is that you do. Just don't expect any more of those Gwen and Heather dream moments.**


	6. Day 3, Part 1: Segway, Ride Fresh

**Author's Note: I do not own the Total Drama franchise, nor any of the contestants, Chris, Chef, the animals, and the island itself. I do, however, own the character known as Bingo.**

**On another note, I just realized that this is slowly getting more and more Kobold Necromancer-esque in style and in plot. Please don't sue me, please don't sue me!

* * *

**

Insert montage here!

"Last time, on Total Drama Tournament, an enraged fanbase lashed out at us for using actors during an unrecorded session, and while this shouldn't mean much, it did mean that we needed to get them some money for the business. Thus, the contestants went out to sell steaks to raise money.

"While some managed to properly sell and obtain five-hundred dollars from random Canadian strangers, others used different methods of obtaining the cash, ranging from opera to stand-up to just plain stealing the money. Of course, as these were overall rule-breakers, they were busted by Bingo, sent out to see how many people could control themselves under the pressure.

"In the end, it was the Screaming Losers who won, since the Killer Champs were short one person who properly sold the money. Although Heather received the most votes, it was Owen who left the competition, out of mourning of a microwave oven.

"Will the Screaming Losers ever live up to their name and lose? Will Chef successfully oust Bingo? What happened to those cops? These questions may or may not be answered on this episode, of Total…

"Drama…

"Tournament!"

* * *

"Yes, no smell. I enjoy no smell."

"Perhaps you'd enjoy some breakfast so you won't be talking like a cretin?"

"Don't make me come over there."

"Without a make-out session, I'd be surprised if you could get halfway."

Noah smirked as he returned another remark in this game of word tennis against a very tired Duncan. The lack of Owen made the punk's wake-up process a much slower event than usual, which gave the cynic a much-needed head start for his newly-made promise of cynicality.

"Look, enough, all right? Can't you just send attack Justin or something? You're not even giving me a head start," Duncan mumbled.

"Yes, but I figured I needed it more. To further my theory, the anti-me is not even in the cabin at this moment, so I'll have to settle with my _second_ least-favorite person in this cabin," Noah replied, not even blinking.

Duncan opened his mouth again, but could not speak, for he was a tad busy vomiting.

"Eh. Did the Puke Pixie come to visit you last night?" Noah asked, forcing himself away from the mess.

"You think I know about this?" Duncan gasped between coughs. "I didn't even eat anything yesterday! I have no idea what this means!"

Duncan turned to the camera. "Do YOU?"

The cameraman shook his head, slightly distressed.

"Are you SURE? You're sure that there was NOTHING in that LAST CHALLENGE that ALLUDED to this PREDICAMENT?"

"Would you stop hanging the lampshade?" Harold complained, tying a shoe. "It's like you don't even care about the subtleties of foreshadowing! Gosh!"

A brief silence.

"Well… you don't! Do you think there's even enough time on this show to make stupid attempts at putting the audience in your shoes? It's not like Izzy's doing the same thing!"

* * *

Izzy was, indeed, not doing the same thing.

The orange-haired girl was spending her time chatting with Ezekiel, the latter munching on a breakfast churro that emerged from his jacket pocket. While the mold-coated foodstuff was ignored by a majority, Izzy found it rather spiffy.

"Yeah, so I kinda forgot I kept this in case I got hungry at the beginning of season one, eh? I guess it's my good luck that it's kept clean," Ezekiel explained, a few crumbs unleashed from his mouth as he spoke.

Izzy chuckled. "You're sure interesting, Zeke."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Call it what you like."

There was a brief silence, which was interrupted by a massive upheaval of puke from Izzy.

"Cripes, eh!" Ezekiel shouted, backing away from the half-digested food.

"Oy… did you just channel that churro into my own stomach, Zeke?" Izzy asked, cleaning off the vomit from her clothing.

"I… doon't think so, eh? Maybe you just needed some rest after yesterday's challenge?" Ezekiel offered, still half-looking at the pile of vomit.

It was at this time that the other men arrived, Harold sighing.

"Fine, so she's having the same problems. Here's your twenty bucks," Harold muttered, handing over the note to a wildly grinning Duncan.

"Another point for irony," Noah mumbled, sitting himself down as he viewed Chris enter in the same exact fashion.

"It's that time again!" the host proclaimed.

"To wade through pointless backstory in order to get to the actual challenge?" Courtney asked, rolling her eyes.

"To beat the crud out of the host?" Eva grumbled, cracking her knuckles.

"No… it's time for-"

"We know what time it is! Just spin the damn wheel!" Noah shouted, peering up from his book.

"Fine, Mr. Impatient. Let's give the ol' Wheel of Challenges a turn…

"_Wheel of Challenges, spin spin spin_

"_Tell us the challenge we'll partake in_

"…and it's Challenge number two!"

"Didn't we already have that challenge?" Heather asked.

"Well, they don't repeat. That's what makes this thing special!"

Heather rolled her eyes, but did not respond as the fax machine printed out the challenge details.

"Today's challenge is-"

"FREEZE! DON'T MOVE! ROYAL CANADIAN SEGWAY POLICE!"

* * *

**Confession Cam – You know what? Forget it.**

**Harold** – "Yeah, so the camera's apparently showed that when the RCSP entered the building, I was crouching underneath the tables holding on to my own legs for dear life, but I am here to tell you that was not the case. I was GOING to get them out of there with a wicked manuever… but my brain and my muscles were not going along that well. You know what I mean."

**Eva** – "Whatever that guy just said is a pile of crap."

* * *

Officers Pin and Tulip, upon their newly refurbished segways, slowly made their way to Chris' position.

"Officer Pin of the Royal Canadian Segway Police," Officer Pin introduced, showing his laminated-cardboard identification. "We've been on the trail of two criminals that have stolen one thousand dollars from a nearby bank."

"You'd better _ing believe it," Officer Tulip muttered, eyebrows lowered.

"Um… Chef?" Chris called out. The cook sighed, and entered the room.

"Yeah?"

"Go consult these gentlemen. They think that we've got some criminals."

"We do."

Silence.

"What?"

Bingo jogged in with a burst of convenience.

"Unfortunately so, sir! It appears that Izzy and Duncan both stole five-hundred dollars from a local bank to get their money!"

More silence, interrupted by Chris' hand hitting his face.

"We're already in debt… and now you're telling me that two of our contestants are wanted criminals. This is just… brilliant," Chris said. "I need… something. Nice. I'm off to go take a seven-hour bath. Go tell me when I can eliminate somebody."

With that, Chris paced out of sight, sighing heavily.

"All right, then… which one of you chumps are Izzy and Duncan?" Officer Pin demanded, readying a pistol the size of a shot glass.

No one rose their hands.

"Oh… playing hardball, eh? Well, we have our own ways to determine things.. That bank was holding a new variety of money, and whoever made contact with it without wearing protective equipment would be vomiting like an old guy on a roller coaster! Now vomit, and prove yourselves guilty!"

No one puked.

Of course, by "no one", I mean Izzy and Duncan.

"Officer Tulip, if you would?"

The heavier officer grabbed the two up in one huge arm and yanked them out.

"Now then… these two are going to the Royal Canadian Segway Police Home for Those Who Aren't That Cool When Compared to Everybody Else. Good luck getting them back," Officer Pin chuckled, riding out on his segway.

"Um… should we get them?" Bingo asked Chef, the large man now being the highest authority.

"Nah… let's just follow the plans from the wheel," Chef responded, picking up the paper.

"'In a few moments, two officers from the Royal Canadian Segway Police will enter this facility and kidnap one member from each team. These members will be brought to a prison-esque location. Teams will have to work together to break their respective members out of the prison using whatever means necessary. Under no circumstances may the teams be caught by the RCSP or else they must restart the entirety of their challenge,'" Chef read.

A brief silence.

"What are you waiting for? Go get them! Go save your dang team mates! Move it! Move it!" Chef commanded, the fourteen contestants running out into the fields, attempting to locate supplies.

"The challenge really was that?" Bingo asked, scratching his head.

"Nah, it was something to do with sitars and flamingos. Of course, we can't let Chris lose those contestants, because if that was the case he'd whine about how two of the most popular contestants have already been ousted. It's all in the commercialism, kid," Chef grumbled.

Bingo gave a nod and a salute, and turned around to exit. Chef's right hand held a cleaver ready to be tossed at his mortal enemy, but he resisted the urge.

* * *

**Confession Cam – We're tired of all of these subtitles.**

**Chef** – "I'll give the kid a break for now. He listens to me. Actually listens! Who else on this dang island does that? Nobody… and that's why he got his break. But the next time we meet… heh heh heh. Let's just say that the war has begun."

* * *

"Checklist… Ezekiel, have you got your so-called crossbow?" Noah asked, looking up from a clipboard.

"Right here, eh?" Ezekiel responded, holding up a wooden tool.

"Eva, your muscles?"

"Primed and ready to go…"

"Anti-me, your fake looks?"

"I hate you… but yes."

"Geoff, your whatever it is you have?"

"I have a hat!"

"Anything that can harm people?"

"Um… I have a vest as well!"

"Yeah, no. Bridgette, your surfboard?"

"Stainless steel. Shouldn't be breaking any time soon."

"Trent, your guitar?"

"I don't see why I have to use it…"

"You just do… and I've got a thousand books. Heavy ones, all conveniently being held by Eva."

Eva raised half of her eyebrow as the literature was gently placed on her back.

"Now then, let's review our plan of attack, shall we?" Noah asked, looking up from his clipboard.

"Now, it may come to shock you that I really do not care for most of you, since you have treated me like nothing but crap for the previous seasons. Thus, I am going to attempt to put our differences aside and only use my cynicality for one-liners and when you _really_ start to piss me off.

"Geoff, since I can't trust you with anybody with sexual organs that don't move, your group consists of you, Zeke, and the anti-me. Your main goal will be to sneak around the facility and try to get to Izzy through a window, be it of opportunity or simply glass.

"Bridgette, Eva, Trent, you are going to charge in without a second thought. If, by any circumstance, the surfboard or guitar prove useless, use those dictionaries on Eva's spine. Make sure to knock out any and all guards that get in your way, and break down those walls if you have to. Understood?"

The six nodded.

"What are you going to be doing?" Geoff asked.

Noah smirked. "Fortunately, I have a weapon that you could only dream of possessing; logic. I'll be using brain power to get my way up to Izzy's location. We've got three groups here, so I'm thinking we'll be just fine. Any more questions?"

"Yeah… why are we standing here when the Killer Champs have left around an hour ago?" Eva asked, monotone as ever.

Noah's eyes opened from their relaxed state, and looked to the sides. No one else.

"Um… move! Get… to… a…"

Noah looked around more.

"We weren't supplied with vehicles?" the cynic asked, collapsing onto the ground in exasperation.

* * *

_**Earlier…**_

The six remaining Killer Champs jogged up to a shoddy tent laying somewhere in the middle of a forest-esque region; Bingo's current lodging.

Courtney attempted to knock on the flap, though it proved ineffective when the intern's head popped out immediately afterwards.

"What? I'm trying to heal my unhappy new occupation over here!" Bingo complained, sticking a large spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"We need to borrow your vehicle again," Courtney demanded.

"That one you lent us to get to the main area outside during the last challenge," Harold clarified.

"The really, really fast one," Gwen further clarified.

"Yeah… no," Bingo replied. "Chris kinda sold that to purchase all of those steaks. You can take Pokey, though, if you want."

"What's a… Pokey?" Heather asked the question on everyone's mind.

"Pokey's one of my old cars. He's the weird red jalopy deal in front. Not the fastest sucker on the lot, but he should get you to your destination faster than most public transportation. Here's the keys," Bingo nonchalantly tossed the keys in LeShawna's hands. "You guys can drive, right?"

Blank stares.

"Good enough. He's where the good one was. Now leave me to my cereal."

With that, Bingo hid back underneath the tent.

"Don't let the-"

"Don't start that again, Harold," Courtney interrupted, nabbing the keys from LeShawna.

The champs managed to sneak past a planning group of losers and make it to the main lot with plenty of time to spare before the pep talk ended.

As Bingo said, a small red automobile sat in a parking lot-esque area leading out through the bridge leading to the exit from the island set.

"Hop in, then! We've got enough room now that the lug is gone," Courtney demanded, getting into the driver's seat and inserting the key.

There was a twist.

There was a great spluttering noise.

"What the heck was that?" Gwen asked.

"Well, that MIGHT explain why this thing is up in smoke!" an enraged LeShawna yelled, pointing to the tower of grey fog-esque material coming from the exhausted exhaust pipe.

"Bingo probably doesn't use it much. Yeah, that's it… just needs some perking!" Courtney replied, turning the key again.

The spluttering noise somehow ended with a cowbell that time.

"Well… this is peachy," Harold muttered. At this rate, we'll be a few feet in front of the losers after Noah's done with his speech!"

* * *

**_Back at the here and now…_**

"Noah… they're right over there," Bridgette said, pointing to the few feet away where Pokey inched forward, the exhaust pipe making noises not unlike that of a llama giving birth.

"All right, then… move forward, team!" Noah commanded, the seven losers running forward with their weapons or lack thereof.

The winners sat in their car, a majority of them shaking their heads.

"Move faster, Pokey!" Harold commanded the car.** [1]**

No speed was gained.

"Faster!"

…

"_Faster!_"

…

"For the love of GOD, faster!"

…

"Out of curiosity, Courtney, how hard are you pressing the accelerator?" Heather asked the driver.

"I'm following the speed limit!"

"There IS no speed limit!"

"Yes there is! It says so over there!"

"That's a twig with a poorly painted "5" on a paper plate taped on top of it!"

"Really?"

Courtney took a closer inspection.

"Hey! This is just a twig with a poorly painted "5" on a paper plate taped on top of it!" Courtney deduced, Heather sighing heavily. "Hold on to your hair!"

Courtney stomped the gas, and the vehicle zoomed off.

The jogging losers went from three blocks ahead to ten blocks behind in the blink of an eye.

"Does anyone have taxi fare?" Noah asked, not turning around.

"I've got a…"

"That was a rhetorical question, Trent," the cynic snapped back.

Trent slowly slipped the fifty dollars back into his pocket pants.

"Pick up speed, then?" Eva asked/stated, already going quicker than the others.

"Ch'yeah," Geoff responded, also picking up speed.

"Let's move, then," Noah muttered to himself, the team already ahead.

* * *

**Confession Cam- You can make your own blasted jokes!**

**Noah** – "So people are probably wondering… why did I attempt to become the leader? Well, mainly it's because the anti-me would probably screw it up. However, I am also fully aware of Izzy's use as a teammate during these early rounds, and if she goes out, I lose an ally. Strategy, kids. Try it out sometime."

* * *

The Royal Canadian Segway Police Home for Those Who Aren't That Cool When Compared to Everybody Else towered over the other buildings in rural Canada, a mighty vehicle spinning on the highest towers. Convenient bolts of lightning descended from the sky as the Killer Champs approached the mighty doors.

"Isn't this a tad… overkill?" Gwen asked no one in particular, glancing at the double-knobbed, knocker-equipped behemoth of a door.

"Yeah, but what else is new? Chris probably paid for this crap," Heather responded.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's just get in there and save Duncan!" Courtney demanded.

"You would…" LeShawna muttered.

Courtney attempted to open the door, to no avail.

"It's locked?" the counselor asked.

"No… really?" Heather remarked.

"Perhaps there's a key?" Harold piped up.

"Yeah… not anytime soon."

The five champs looked up at a booming intercom system.

"We really, REALLY do not want you to be all up in our business as of right now, all right?" Officer Pin's voice spoke. "Thus, we have hidden all of our keys in… some location. Any memories on the subject, Officer Tulip?"

"Oh, like I'd _ing know that!"

"Well, there ya go. They've gone and hidden themselves away! I hope your bandit friend enjoys eggs Benedict and fresh glasses of limeade, 'cause that's all he'll be getting in this air-conditioned hellhole!"

With that, the intercom shut off with a mighty "plorp!" and no more was heard.

"Well… I think we've lost," Harold muttered.

"NOT ON MY WATCH!" LeShawna yelled, her anger back and full-blown. "IT'S DOOR-CRUSHING TIME!"

The sister backed up, and charged into the mighty gate. It did not budge.

"ONCE MORE WITH PASSION!"

No budging.

"ONCE MORE FOR GOVERNMENT!"

It knocked down.

"How did that happen?" Gwen asked.

"No questions, just proceed! Maybe this time we won't be screwed over by our own mistakes!" Heather demanded, the five running into the ever-looming fortress.

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"No, Geoff. We are not even relatively close to our destination."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I mean, look over there! It's fifteen friggin' blocks away, and we're running! It's just ridiculous how slowly we're going!"

"But Noaaaaaah! I wanna be there noooooow!"

"Shut up!"

"But-"

"Don't start with me, or else I'm turning this team around!"

"Wait, aren't I supposed to be the one you argue with?"

"Quiet, anti-me! You aren't in this conversation!"

"Oh, so you think HE'S more of an arguing rival than I am?"

"Well, at least he has thoughts!"

"His hormones make up his brain matter!"

"Your pectorals make up your popularity!"

"At least I have some!"

"Are we there yet?"

"SHUT UP, GEOFF!"

* * *

The Killer Champs entered the main foyer of the Segway Police's headquarters, fists at the ready.

"Where's Duncan?" Courtney asked a nearby officer.

"Yeah… who?" the constable replied, scratching his hat.

"Y'know… about yay tall, green hair, dreamy frown?"

The officer blinked.

"Do you want to be beaten up?"

"Not… entirely," the officer responded.

"Then you'd better start coughing up!" Courtney growled, pulling him in by the collar.

"Duncan… I take it you refer to the newly obtained criminal? They're on the highest floor… number forty-nine, if you're interested. However, I do believe that Pin and Tulip are protecting that room, and the other officers of the RCSP are probably going to be after your heads as well. Have… a good time."

With that, the officer fainted promptly. The intercom system buzzed back into existence.

"OK, really? I mean… really?" Officer Pin mumbled. "You didn't even THINK about looking for those damn keys? We can't even get into the dang storage room! Where else are we going to get more segways, huh? All we want to do is deliver a little justice. Just a little!

"And now… oh, God, look at this, Officer Tulip!"

"They _ing knocked out Officer Nutmeg. Real _ing great idea there."

"Officer Nutmeg was one of the best in the dang business! He was also the one who bought us these segways, AND our Friday Flapjacks!"

"I _ing loved those flapjacks…"

…

"Oh, for the… you just made Officer Tulip silent!"

"Are you going to wait for us to give a retort, or should we commence kicking your asses now?" Heather asked, tapping a foot. "I think we all know that we can deliver some damage to your so-called police force."

"Well… now, that's just rude. That is just plain rude, you know that?

"That's it… that's it, screw it. Troops! Get the kids!"

With that, the intercom system shut down once more, and the room filled to the edges with large, mustachioed cops on segways.

"I'm here to kick ass and quote Duke Nukem…" Harold began, donning a pair of sunglasses.

"And I'm all out of quotes."

* * *

Bridgette approached Ezekiel as the Losers continued their walk, Noah, Justin, and Geoff still yelling at each other.

"So… you've befriended Bingo, right?" Bridgette asked Ezekiel, the toque-wearer flinching slightly.

"Don't… sneak up on me like that, eh? I'm a bit… eh… in of it."

"That's 'out of it', hon. What happened, anyhow?"

Ezekiel sighed.

"Well, you know about that whole thing with Owen and his elimination, right?"

Bridgette nodded.

"It's kinda weird… but I had this dream last night… and his microwave Stanley was coming for revenge, eh? It's pretty different than most other weird little thoughts of the future, but… um…"

Ezekiel pulled his hat over his eyes.

"I'm… boring you, aren't I?"

Bridgette smiled.

"Not really. It's nice to see what's in your head, and while most people are imagining having sex with every woman around them, a simple electronic device out for revenge isn't that bad, now is it?"

Ezekiel gave a laugh.

"Guess you're right about tha-"

"OK, Geoff, we're here! Now shut up!"

The seven looked up at the now-broken segway atop the building as the intercom system started again.

"What? Oh… hey guys. Yeah, we're a bit busy with the others right now, but frankly I don't really give a crap at the moment. Just… don't spill any of the punch around. Seriously, I want to drink that after this.

"As for the orange-haired one… you'll find her in the lowest area of the building. That's basement floor forty-nine. I'll send Officer Tulip down there to accompany you. Tulip?"

"Already _ing there."

"Well, there you go. I'll be off to command more segway-riding officers to beat the tar out of you. Have a good time!"

The intercom system would have turned off, if Eva had not thrown a thesaurus at it and caused it to explode.

"I'm getting pretty tired of standing around and not beating up people," the muscular girl muttered. "Let's get in there so I can express my emotions in alternative fashions, and when I say alternative fashions, it all depends on how many blows my fists can deliver to a stupid, segway-riding cop's face!"

With a mighty "huzzah!" the seven jogged into the building, and were almost immediately launched back out by a large robot.

"Since when did officers use robots?" Justin asked nobody in particular.

"Since you're messing with Officer Bolts, it's pretty likely!" Officer Bolts shouted from the robot. "I'm a distraction, y'see? Oooooga booga booga!"

The robot attempted to do a mime sequence, though it ended up falling on itself and malfunctioning.

Trent lobbed a guitar pick at the cockpit, and the robot itself imploded, Officer Bolts receiving nothing but a pick to the eye.

"Gah, my sanity! What the heck is with you guys? One minute you're all wandering around, mindin' your own business, then you go and beat the crud out of my robot!" Officer Bolts complained. "But it's a long way to basement forty-nine, ya punks!"

With that, Officer Bolts dropped his wallet in front of him, and ran away from the building.

"Dibs," Eva grumbled, grabbing the notes from the leather case.

"That went well. Of course, it's doubtful that everything else will be coming up roses," Noah commented. "I need everybody to stay on their toes during this, literally or otherwise.

"If, at any time, you can't defeat one of those officers, get out. Just… just get out. Even the most bitter of cynics have trouble seeing people near death… most people.

"So… let's go. Let's all save crazy girl from the wrath of muscular, segway-riding members of the justice system."

A brief silence.

"Woo?" Noah tried.

"Woo," the rest of the team responded, half-heartedly tossing a fist into the air, Geoff half-asleep.

* * *

"Floor five. This floor covers most blood-related incidents and accidental injuries regarding punching people in the groin."

"Floor six. This floor regards the training of homing pigeons to poo on the heads of those who have disrespected the force.

"Floor seven. For whatever reason, this floor is coated in mayonnaise."

The female-sounding robotic voice droned on as the five Killer Champs beat the snot out of segway-riding officers, by either use of yo-yo, fists, or improvisation.

**Confession Cam – Day in and day out we work, but for what?**

**Courtney** – "I'd have to say my least favorite challenge this season, which is saying something, was the thing with the police officers. It felt utterly pointless except to save Duncan, and Chris didn't even do anything bastardized to mess up with it!"

More and more the officers bodies' built up, piling on top of each other as the floors were ascended. Finally, after floor twenty-four ("This floor is meant for meditation on why the devil we're even doing this crap in the first place."), the Killer Champs paused on floor twenty-five to catch their breath.

"Floor twenty-four point five. Midway point. Prepare yourselves."

"What's that?" LeShawna asked. "You sayin' we're not even halfway done?"

"Oh, not by a long shot, missy."

A tank plopped itself into the middle of the expansive room, the cannon itself pointing at the five members.

"The name's Officer Slant, and while it pains me to do this, I've received orders to beat the ever-loving snot out of yer faces. Hope you kids all got a few extra lives, 'cause you'll be needin' them now!" Officer Slant taunted.

"Not now, you won't. Guys! Drink these!" Harold commanded, tossing bottled fluids to the other members.

"What is this? I don't remember purchasing any Kool-Aid," Heather remarked, shaking the bottle.

"They're power-ups, all right? I got these with the spare money from the last challenge. Depending on which color you down, one of your general abilities will be raised to superhuman standards. I wanted to save these for the final boss, but as we are now, we'll be creamed without it them."

"Unthinkable!" Courtney yelled. "Who would drink a mysterious, unlabeled liquid in the vague hopes that we could beat up this guy in a tank?"

"The rest of the team?" Gwen offered, the four members downing their bottles.

The counselor-in-training sighed, and pocketed her bottle.

"All right, we done here, kids? I'm not being paid overtime for this, and I've got some jaywalkers to spank after this," Officer Slant muttered. "Taste segway-related bullets to some degree!"

* * *

**[1] Do you get this? If so, I will give you a prize. Maybe, like, an encouraging word or something.**

**Author's Note: Yep… that's a good time to end this.**

**Two-parter this time. I like the style, so I'll probably stick with these guys from now on. My aim is somewhere around ten thousand words a challenge, so this should be all roses and teacups.**

**Anyway, if you're a bit disappointed with the general amount of action thus far, rest assured, the next chapter will be all about the action. And the drama.**

**I thank you for reading, and your patience, for that matter. What with the school and the plays and the procrastination…**


	7. Day 3, Part 2: Seven Gram Powerups

**Author's Note: I do not own the Total Drama franchise, or any of its characters or locations. I only own Bingo, the Royal Canadian Segway Police, and, to an extent, Pokey.**

**And now, part two of our epic saga.**

* * *

Officer Slant positioned the tank towards the five Killer Champs.

"Just wait for a minute!" Harold commanded. "The power-ups take a while to kick in, but when they do we should have more than enough power to get this tank to the junk heap!"

"Oh, COME ON!" Officer Slant yelled. "Is that the best line you can think of? I have a massive blasted tank here! You could think of bullets, you could think of ammo; hell, you could just make fun of my damned name! Use your imagination!"

"I prefer to use my sense of logic," Harold said, grinning.

"Nonsense. Now have some bran-flavored bullets!"

Officer Slant fired a massive grey shell in the general direction of Harold, which shortly afterwards exploded in a great mix-up of mortal and, of course, segway parts. However, the nerd still stood.

"Defense booster. Fortunate," Harold commented, giving more attention to the strange blue aura surrounding his person. "Now that I have the ability to be nigh-invulnerable, I can withstand anything you dunces can toss at me. The fair Leshawna?"

"WHY THE RED SURROUNDIN' ME?"

Indeed, LeShawna's aura was not the calm blue, but a fierce red surrounded the so-called sister. Gwen's aura was a mighty yellow, while Heather's, for whatever reason, was a semi-florescent shade of burnt umber.

"Burnt umber?" Heather remarked.

"I think that represents the ability to make some wicked-sweet cheesecake," Harold remarked. "LeShawna, you have the ability to increase your power at will even more than you have now with your… um… anger issues, and Gwen, your speed has been increased to levels that makes light look like a snail."

"So? What good will those do?" Gwen asked.

"Nothing now. But with the power of teamwork, we can defeat anything that stands in our way!"

Courtney slapped her face.

"Are we done with the pep rally? If so, I have a tank that would like to be having tank babies all over your corpses. Enjoy the ride, punks!" Officer Slant shouted.

The cop snuck back into the monstrosity of a machine, and once again prepared the nozzle to fire. However, he had a tad of trouble with aligning his shot after being forcefully picked up and tossed around by LeShawna.

"Oh, you had BETTER let us through, or else I'm gonna break this thing in half so hard your spine ain't gonna be around much longer!" the sister threatened, spinning the tank like a chef would to pizza dough. Tank-shaped pizza dough, but dough nonetheless.

"Gah! Put me down, you insane female! You're messing with the tank's main system!"

Of course, as Officer Slant said this, the tank exploded in a blinding white light. While LeShawna was able to force her way through the blast, Harold withstanded it, Gwen ran from it, and Heather blocked herself with an intuitive barrier of burnt cheesecake; Courtney ended up with nothing more than a black, soot-riddled figure.

"I've sorry to say, Courtney," Harold remarked, "that you really don't know how…"

Harold paused his monologue to don a pair of sunglasses.

"…To kick some ash."

"For whatever reason, the entirety of Camp Wawanakwa was shown in a shot, while a guitar riff and an excited yell of "YEAAAAAAAAAAH!" played.

* * *

Nearing the basement, a single drop of sweat exerted from Noah.

Then another, and another, and the process continued.

"For the record, aren't most basements supposed to be considered the cold area of a building?" the cynic muttered, wiping his brow.

"I don't see what there is to complain about. All this does is improve my already perfect look!" Justin replied, his shirt removed and, of course, his chest covered in sweat.

"I'd dignify that with a response, but I wouldn't want to overload your brain."

"That's it!"

Expecting a comeback, Noah turned around, eyes fully opened the first time all season.

"Why, man? Why do you consistently treat me like I have no smarts in here? I got pretty far in Action! I outlasted you the first time we were here! So… just… why?" Justin spat out.

Noah stared for a few moments before slowly shaking his head.

"For one thing, anti-me, you've just listed off a lot of reasons why I really dislike you. For another, you're not really a team player. And until we divide into teams…"

Noah stopped here to do a dramatic pose.

"I will lead this team to victory!"

"Cute. Very cute."

Noah turned around to see, oddly enough, another officer, this time holding a small pistol in each hand.

"Officer Gumdrop. I knew you were going to ask, so I figured this way would be a tad easier," the cop said, twirling his handgun.

"What do you want? We have places to go," Bridgette explained.

"Ha… yeah, that's not going to be happening. I know that you've got yourself a little criminal on basement floor forty-nine, and she's not going anywhere. Now, then…"

Officer Gumdrop shot his handguns at a wall in quick succession. The holes made by the piercing of the somewhat weak wall made the form of a small bottle.

"Wait… crap, that's not how it's supposed to look. Give me another shot."

More bullets were fired. The holes now formed the shape of a stereotypical four-year-old's flower drawing.

"Damn. Once more, guys. Once more."

This went on, Officer Gumdrop in tears of frustration as the countless childish shapes made by expensive bullets added up. It wasn't until the ninth try that the holes finally formed the rough shape of a gumdrop.

"There it is! There it freaking is! I've finally done it, guys!" the officer cheered, turning to where the seven contestants stood.

Unfortunately, the Screaming Losers had long ago lost interest in the officer's sad attempts at bullet artistics, and had proceeded on to a lower floor. Officer Gumdrop stood for a moment, smiled madly, and proceeded to once again weep.

* * *

**Cnfssn Cm – Wh nds vwls?**

**Noah** – "By far, the most pathetic memory I had of this season was Officer Gumdrop. The fact that he was disappointed in recreating Starry Night with handguns just makes me cringe."

**Ezekiel** – "Yeah, I liked that basement challenge, eh? Except for that one guy who had guns. My pa always said that those automatic things were a cheap way to get food and that a trusty bow and arrow could always do the job twice as well. See what I mean?"

/Ezekiel pulls out a bow of his own from the bottom of the john, and fires it in the air. It ricochets off and hits him in the head./

* * *

"Forty-seven… forty-eight… forty-nine, guys! We made it!"

The puffing of the members who were carrying the supplies was somehow overshadowed by Justin's cheers of wild success. Eva sighed, Geoff and Bridgette momentarily stopped making out, and Noah smirked.

"Trent, if you could?" the cynic turned to the musician.

Trent looked at his guitar. "You sure about this?"

Noah simply nodded. With a heave, Trent slammed the acoustic instrument into the lone door on the floor. It came down with a thud.

"Wait… there wasn't even a lock!" Trent whined, looking at the remnants of his guitar.

"I know that, but it did stop your mindless crooning that's been keeping me up for half the night," Noah explained, jogging into the room. Trent frowned.

* * *

**Cnfssn Cm – Lt m tll y, W dn't nd vwls!**

**Trent** – "I'm all for victory and everything, but I think that Noah's gone a little overboard on his control over the rest of us in this competition. It's like… he's gone power mad or something. Like he won't stop at anything to gain victory.

"Question is… would he?"

* * *

Officer Tulip stood in front of a set of bars, Izzy napping on a rather comfortable looking bed as a ceiling fan gently spun above her. A mini-fridge sat near the bed, emptied out, empty bottles of soda and, oddly enough, cheap beer beside it.

"Can it wait for a while? She's _ing tired after staying up to all _ing hours," the officer explained.

"Leave this one to me," Noah remarked to the others before walking forward in a casual manner.

"What are y-" Justin tried to interrupt, but Noah had already stepped in front of the officer.

"So you won't let her go easily, will you?" Noah asked, staring Officer Tulip in the eye.

"You're _ing expecting an answer that isn't a no?" the officer responded. "I'm a proud _ing member of the Royal Canadian Segway Police! Nobody in this _ing facility would ever give up easily with a wanted _ing murderer!"

"Wasn't she arrested for stealing a few dollars?" Trent interrupted.

"That's beside the _ing point!" Officer Tulip responded in a huff. "Now then, if you're not going to do anything to help your case, I suggest you make a like a _ing tree and be cut down by a burly man with a _ing chainsaw!"

"Methinks your analogies could use some work," Noah retorted. "Of course, it's not fair for us to have infiltrated our way all the way to the forty-ninth floor of the basement without at least a chance to make our case, isn't it?"

"IT SURE AS _ING HELL IS!" the officer shouted. "You've broken our line of defense and made the Royal Canadian Segway Police a _ing joke! Our reputations will even be lower than the _ing Royal Canadian Toilet Cleaners!"

"Then why don't I make you an offer?" Noah answered with a smirk. "You and me, in a battle of wits."

"What? You're _ing crazy, kid. Don't you know that I've won the _ing Royal Canadian Segway Police Logic Olympics for six _ing years running? You'll be stumped by my ingenious tactics!" the officer replied, with a sturdy shake of his fist.

"And yet I sense some fear in your words. Perhaps you're not able to match wits as I thought. Very well. I guess we'll take our leave…"

"Not so _ing fast."

Noah stopped in his tracks, a small grin on his face.

"So it's a game?"

"Yeah, you better _ing believe it. A game that you will _ing lose, and then our dang guest can enjoy her time in prison in peace!" the officer shouted, ironically enough waking up the drowsy Izzy.

"Waitress… one coffee and a python waffle, if you could…" Izzy muttered, picking up an old newspaper and whipping it open.

"Permission to take the first move?" Noah asked. Officer Tulip gave a slow nod. The cynic turned his head.

"Ezekiel, Bridgette, anti-me. Come here for a few moments."

The three walked forward, Justin with a grumble or two against his name.

"Now then, let's say that these three people were in a room where a fresh fish was just prepared. When I returned, my fish was gone," Noah began.

He later walked behind each of the three he called forward.

"Ezekiel, here, admits to eating the fish. Bridgette says that she saw Ezekiel gobble it up. Meanwhile, this mass of flesh said that he and Bridgette did not eat the fish."

"Watch your mouth," Justin mumbled, but Noah ignored him.

"Now then, officer, one of these three is lying to you. I leave it up to you to decide which one."

Officer Tulip scooted his segway forward.

"You couldn't have been lying, since that would mean she was lying as well," the officer said to Ezekiel, who had not blinked in the past seven minutes due to fear. " And neither could you, miss. If you were the liar, that means hat-boy did not eat the fish, but he says that he did. Thusly…"

Officer Tulip pointed a threatening figure at Justin.

"My _ing answer."

Noah clapped.

"Well done, officer. Ezekiel and the anti-me ate the fish. You may now go on with your choice."

* * *

**Cnfssn Cm: Lgc hrts my brn… tht cmrs dn't hv.**

**Eva** – "There was nothing more boring this season than that smart-aleck and the angry cop having a puzzle-off. I can only imagine the amount of painful fun that was being had on the other team's side."

**Bridgette** – "I admit, I solved some of that logic before Officer Tulip did. Not all blondes are brain-dead, y'know!" /Bridgette gives a small wink to the camera./

* * *

"All right, ya _ing wise guy. How do ya instantly turn water into ice?"

"Add a dot. You refer, of course, to the _kanji_ for both of those words. My turn again. Trent, I'll need you up here alongside these three."

Trent rose an eyebrow, but approached, interrupting his guitar mending.

"Hey, why can't I be in it?" Geoff whined.

"Because you'd obnoxiously give off the answer. Now sit there and play nice with Eva."

Geoff turned his glance towards Eva, who was grimacing with frustration.

"All right, officer. Let's say that this time a cake that I own has been devoured hungrily by one of these four."

Once again, Noah put words in the other contestants' mouths.

"Ezekiel, here, denies eating the cake. Bridgette says that neither Ezekiel nor Trent ate the cake. The anti-me also says that he did not eat the cake, while Trent says that the anti-me is telling the truth, which would be a first.

"Now then, officer, one of these fine folks is lying to you. Whoever is lying ate the cake. So tell me, who is the culprit?"

Officer Tulip gave a chuckle.

"This is too _ing easy, kid. If hats is lying, then the young miss is lying. If the young miss is lying, then hats is lying. If muscles is lying, then handprint's lying, and if handprint's lying, then muscles is lying. Thus…"

The officer once again pulled out his accusatory finger.

"You are the one who ate the _ing cake!"

Noah stared at the digit extended towards him, and applauded once again.

"Correct. I lied about them, and I ate the cake. You may take your next turn."

Officer Tulip gave a small grin.

"All right, then. Let's see… if a truck is carryin' some _ing tomatoes, some _ing cabbages, and some-

"The first thing to drop would be the truck's speed."

Officer Tulip blinked and stared at the cynic, who gave a grin of his own.

"For a so-called master of riddles, you sure are incompetent when making your own," Noah cracked.

Officer Tulip's face flared.

"All right, you _ing punk. One more riddle from you. If I get it right, then you're going to leave, and she can get some _ing sleep!" Officer Tulip yelled, pointing at Izzy, who was spending her time preparing herself a snow cone with a conveniently placed ice machine.

"Hey, guys!" Izzy chirped with a wave before applying some flavored syrup.

"Very well. Let's use our surroundings for this one," Noah remarked.

The cynic turned around quickly.

"I'll be needing Trent, Bridgette, Ezekiel, and Eva for this," Noah demanded. The four paced forward, Eva with a look of death on her face. Noah turned back around to face the officer.

"Let's say these four and our good friend Izzy are all incarcerated, and each of them are going to give their final comments. Whoever tells the truth deserves to be set free, but those who are not stay in jail. Let's hear their last words, shall we?"

With that, Noah jotted down a few notes on a sheet of paper, tore it into pieces, and passed them to the fellow contestants.

"'One of us is a liar,'" Trent read.

"'Two of us are liars,'" Bridgette said, grinning.

"'Three of us are liars,' eh?" Ezekiel muttered, rubbing his toque in confusion.

"'Four of us are liars!"' Izzy read all too enthusiastically.

"'All of us are liars,'" Eva grumbled.

Noah nodded, and turned again to Officer Tulip. "The choice is yours, officer? Who deserves to be set free?"

Officer Tulip rode his segway around the room, grumbling and taking notes. After around two minutes, he grinned and returned to Noah.

"All of these _ing losers deny each other in some fashion… except one," Officer Tulip stopped for dramatic effect that was not anywhere to be seen. "Look, if one is lying, then everyone else is lying. If two are lying, then the rest are lying, et cetera. The only one that makes a lick of _ing sense is…"

Officer Tulip opened the door and let Izzy outside of it.

"This _ing girl is the only person who has a working and honest alibi. This is my final _ing answer."

Noah nodded slowly.

"I _ING DID IT!" the officer cheered, practically falling off of his segway. "Now get out of my _ing prison!"

"I must admit, you have really shown yourself worthy of your title, officer. Congratulations," Noah said with a hint of scorn, walking outside with the other seven contestants.

"Yeah, have a nice _ing life, loser!" the officer replied with a wave. "Now then, where's the-"

Officer Tulip stopped in his tracks and looked at where Izzy once was.

"Oh, you've got to be _ing kidding…" the officer muttered, before picking up a small phone and dialing a few digits quickly.

* * *

The Killer Champs ran up more stairs, their power-ups dwindling but still in effect. Finally, they ran into a slightly larger door than the others.

"Floor forty-nine. The office of the current head officer, replacement, or other high position. Bowing is not required but recommended."

"So Duncan's supposed to be in there?" Courtney asked impatiently.

"Should be. I just hope there isn't a big boss-like fight or something soon. Our power-ups have run out," Harold commented as the colored auras dissipated from the contestants' bodies.

"Finally. I was getting tired of that stupid cake," Heather grumbled, wiping some frosting from her clothing.

"Outta the way, string bean. I'll handle this," LeShawna demanded. Harold hopped out of the way as the large woman pounded the door down with a fist.

Officer Pin sat in the office, his legs crossed and a smirk on his face. Behind him, Duncan sat, grumbling to himself.

"Get out of there! What do you think this is, a game?" Courtney demanded to her boyfriend.

"Hey, they swiped all of my tools, princess. Anybody could pick this lock, but they didn't put anything in here! I haven't even eaten since I was captured!" the punk retorted.

"Then why wouldn't you just tear it apart?"

"Oh, sure, this coming from you! You'd probably just bite that thing off, wouldn't you?"

"Ugh! You're so immature!"

"Better than being batshit insane!"

"Please, please," Officer Pin calmly ordered. The argument ceased.

"Now then, I know what you've come here for," the officer continued, picking himself up. "And frankly, I don't blame you. I must admit that we tend to… shall we say… speed things up here at the RCSP. But… I'm afraid you can't leave alive."

Pushing a nearby button, the doors and windows closed on floor forty-nine. The officer chuckled.

"Do you think that scares us?" Gwen asked. "All this means is that we can escape in a badass manner."

Gwen gave a lackluster high-five to Harold, the nerd grinning from the mental image.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. While I am, of course, fairly impressed that Officer Slant couldn't take you down, I have a little something that could make this much easier for the both of us," the officer explained.

With that, Officer Pin proceeded to pull out an extremely large missile launcher and aim it at the non-incarcerated Killer Champs.

"Any last words?" the officer asked, preparing his finger on the trigger.

"Yes, actually," Harold responded. "Drink up."

The officer raised an eyebrow as Harold ran to Courtney, took the bottle out of her pocket, opened it, and dumped the contents down her throat in roughly four seconds.

In a great explosion of color, passion, and flatulent noises, Courtney increased in size tenfold, a painful roar emerging from her throat.

"Oh, right, that was the power-up that activated God Mode," Harold mentioned. "Forgot about that one."

"WHERE IS HE?" Courtney boomed with all of the volume of a metal concert. Officer Pin blinked, and aimed his enormous launcher skyward towards the hulking girl.

"Yeah… you sure are a sight, aren't you," the officer stated. "You kids are the biggest threat to the Royal Canadian Segway Police I've seen in all of my years. Unfortunately for you, that's not saying much."

With that, Officer Pin launched a rocket straight up to Courtney's face. It proceeded to bounce off with a satisfying "plink" and exploded in the air, slightly singing Courtney's elbow in the process.

"Well," Officer Pin said in response before being picked up by Courtney and thrown off into the distance. With that, Courtney's raging form ran out, and she reverted to her regular, but still quite frightening form.

"Is that really your schtick, princess?" Duncan joked, his trademark smirk returning to his face.

"I… I didn't mean to do that! It was all thanks to THAT idiot," Courtney complained, pointing an accusatory thumb to Harold, "that I was like that!"

"And without it, you'd be dead as a doornail," Harold complained. "Gwen, give me a hand with the door, could you?"

"OH!" LeShawna yelled. "You think that scrawny li'l string bean can open a door better than me, don't you?"

Harold blinked.

"WELL SHE CAN'T! I'm gonna show you just why I was chosen for this damn show!"

* * *

**Cnfssn Cm: Nt ntrng Gd Md.**

**Harold** – "When I got back from the last season, I had a lot of mail regarding LeShawna and her… different personality. Of course, I still loved her like only a gentleman could. It's just a tad hard to do so when your life is in danger."

**Heather** – "Okay, who is Harold in love with? Seriously, he's trying to attract, like, seven girls at the same time!"

**Harold** – "I also got letters about Heather, but I chose to ignore those in favor of my own personal matters. Gentlemanly in more than one way, if you will."

* * *

With a punch that would make an earthquake blush, Leshawna blew the door down, leaving a slightly stunned Duncan standing in the middle of a newly-almost-destroyed Royal Canadian Segway Police Home for Those Who Aren't That Cool When Compared to Everybody Else.

"All in favor of leaving?" Duncan asked.

"Aye," responded the other contestants.

"Well, that's one decision out of the way."

* * *

Bingo swept up the remnants of the lodge's broken glass, Chef still fanning at the fallen Chris.

"So… what brought you here, anyways?" Chef asked the intern. "I mean, it's not like you couldn't be off playing some of those electric game dealies or something."

"You get used to it," Bingo responded as he poured the glass into a nearby garbage can. "And at least the scenery is better than the local bowling alley."

Chef gave a snort that may or may not had resembled a laugh.

"Are you all right?" Bingo asked innocently.

"Mind your business. Pretty boy's almost awake, anyhow," the chef responded with one final blow of his humongous fanning leaf.

With a mighty cry of "hargle-blargle!" the fainted Chris awoke in a huff.

"How long was I out?" the host asked.

"Around twenty-two minutes," Bingo responded. "And by that logic, the other contestants should be arriving…"

Silence.

"Well, not now, it seems. Where are those guys?"

* * *

Pokey zoomed down the road to the cardboard scenery that was Camp Wawanakwa, a power-hungry Courtney at the wheel. At the same time, Noah led the Screaming Losers down their sidewalk at a slightly slower speed, though wits got them out a tad faster than strength in the end.

"Someone's coming, eh?" Ezekiel interrupted the running as the red car came into sight. Noah grumbled and handed Eva a pocket dictionary.

While the wind did learn the meaning of several new words, the tossed book was not good for anything else as it plopped a few feet in front of Pokey's trail, leading the Killer Champs into the victory.

"Don't just stand there!" Justin demanded. "Get after them!"

"No need to yell, man," Trent said. "At that rate, the car will eventually run out of gas."

Of course, it didn't until it was a few feet in front of the lodge, where the Killer Champs ran quickly into it, knocking over the trash reciprocal and causing Bingo to break down in tears. The Killer Champs quickly ran after them to no avail.

"I declare… the Killer Champs… to win whatever this was. Yes," Chris mumbled. "Screaming Losers… pick your favorite chump and we'll have a get-together in the Chrisoseum."

"You know, this is YOUR fault!" Justin accused Noah, who raised an eyebrow. "If you weren't busy doing your logical business with that officer, we could've gotten out of there faster!"

"Really. And what makes you think that the car still wouldn't have beaten us?" Noah asked back.

"The head start, that's what!"

"I've learned to not question the fury of an angered Courtney. Either way, our loss was imminent."

"The only thing imminent is your elimination!"

"Oh, is that so? And you suppose that without a leader with some sense instead of a few pectorals, this team wouldn't do better?"

"I'm saying that I'm a better leader!"

"Yes, and I'm saying that you're not."

"Guys, can't we just chill out?"

"Shut up, Geoff!"

* * *

The Chrisoseum stood proud in the middle of the woods as the eight losers trod in. Noah looked confident, Justin looked proud, Ezekiel looked worried, Trent looked somewhat bored, Geoff and Bridgette looked like they were about to get it on, Eva looked frustrated, and Izzy was Izzy.

Chris stood with seven foil-wrapped chocolate treats, watching the skies carefully. Oddly enough, no creature fell from it.

"Well, Screaming Losers, you're streak of beating the odds is over and it's time to say goodbye to one of your fellow contestants. Noah, dude. Do you think this is your fault?" Chris asked

The cynic blinked.

"Okay, then… I have here seven Chris Cups. Those who have made it through the vote will receive one. The contestant who does not receive a Chris Cup must leave. Somehow. Bingo, how are they leaving?"

"Chef just bought some giant slingshot off of the Internet!"

"Yeah, that'll do. Anyway, the first cup goes to Justin!"

The model grinned a shining grin and nabbed his trophy.

"Trent! Izzy! Ezekiel! Eva!"

The four grabbed their respective trophies, Ezekiel heaving a sigh of relief.

"Bridgette!"

The surfer gave a slight look of sadness as she nabbed her trophy. Geoff and Noah looked alike, each of them casually staring at the last immunity-giving "sweet."

"Geoff, Noah. This is the final trophy of the night. And it goes to…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…Noah."

Noah grabbed his trophy as it was chucked towards him.

"Duh. Winning," the cynic simply said before tossing the trophy behind him. Bingo let out another howl of anger.

"Well, Geoff, it looks like your time here's done," Chris simply said, since he couldn't say anything after Bridgette tackled him to the ground.

Several minutes later, Chef yanked the partier off of his girlfriend and shoved him towards the exit of the island.

"Well… that's about it," Chris said. "Go back to your cabins. I need some pudding."

* * *

As LeShawna took another pill, Heather walked outside of the girl's cabin and towards the middle of the island where Harold sat.

"You said you wanted to see me?" the girl asked.

"Yeah. I mean… this season has been pretty unpredictable, huh? So… I was wondering if you and I could… y'know…"

"I'm not going to be in a relationship with you, Harold. Not on your nerdy life."

"What? I was just going to ask if you'd like to form an alliance!"

A brief pause.

"Oh… okay."

Another brief pause.

"Of course, if you WANTED to be in a relationship with me, then…"

Harold could not continue his sentence, as Heather was already kissing him. Behind a few bushes, Bingo watched, eyes wide.

"I gotta find Izzy," the intern muttered to himself before taking his leave.

* * *

**Cnfssn Cm: Nt n fr nghts f rmnc.**

**Harold** – "Yeah. That happened."

**Izzy**– "So it turns out that Bingo is pretty much the coolest guy ever. And then he kissed me.

"Then he proved he was the coolest _person_ ever."

* * *

Stanley the microwave dragged himself forward through the mud, its extension cord on the tail end of an accelerating vehicle. The object guided itself against the wind to close his door, though his attempts were for naught.

Eventually, the vehicle outran the microwave oven, and Stanley hopped forwards again, his door heading towards Camp Wawanakwa.

* * *

**Who voted for whom?**

**Ezekiel** – "I'm voting for Geoff, eh? I mean, he's a pretty cool guy, but he's not a good… um… influence on the team! Yeah! Yeah… that, eh?"

**Eva** – "Noah."

**Noah** – "My vote goes to Geoff. While I'd like the Anti-Me to get the boot sooner than later, that cowboy wannabe has successfully removed my last nerve."

**Justin** – "Oh, oh no! Whoever should I vote for in such a predicament? Perhaps that scheming bastard known as Noah? Yes, but it's so very hard to determine if he deserves it!

"That was sarcasm, by the way."

**Izzy** – "I'm voting for Geoff. Zeke's trying to get close to Bridgette, and he's not helping. It's time for Izzy to play Cupid!"

**Geoff** – "I gotta vote for Noah. He's… just not into being cool, man."

**Bridgette** – "I'm sorry, Geoff… but you're nothing but a barricade now."

**Trent** – "Geoff. Dude, you know I love you, but you seem to not get the point of a competition. Don't worry… I know the feeling."

**Noah – 3**

**Geoff – 5**

**Eliminated: Beth, Owen, Geoff.**

* * *

**Author's Note: RISE FROM YOUR GRAVE!**

**Altered Beast quotes aside; it feels great to be publishing something after a four-month hiatus not counting my cheap-ass April Fool's joke. I've been busy with personal matters such as education and drama for a long time, so I haven't had a lot of time to work on this.**

**But… it's here now! And it'll only be four years until the next chapter!**

**No, I'm kidding. Don't hate me. Please?**

**I'll try to get… something up soon enough. Summer's soon, anyhow, so updates WILL BE HAPPENING, AT LEAST, IN AROUND A MONTH. And by that, I mean, at the least, two updates of some manner from me come the summer months. Trust me.**

**As for questions to ponder… I think all of the romance is quite enough to think about. Wouldn't you agree?**

**I thank you for reading, and your patience. **


	8. Day 4, Part 1: Clapton Your Hands

"Last time, on Total Drama Island!"

As always, Chris McLean was standing on the ever-familiar Dock of Shame, a grin of both money-weedling and an uncharacteristic bit of genuine happiness spread across his face.

"Our competitors took to the streets of Canada to take down the Royal Canadian Segway Police after kidnapping Izzy and Duncan for stealing a thousand dollars. Karma sucks, even when I'm not the one dealing out the pain!

"While Noah led the Screaming Losers with a military mind and a handful of logic puzzles, the Killer Champs used Harold's power-up potions to take down their foes, and won the challenge in a narrow race between foot and fuel!

"In the end, it was Geoff who had to leave us, as his party-all-the-time attitude simply couldn't mix with the dire situation. When your own girlfriend votes you off, dude, you know you've got problems.

"Will the Killer Champs keep up their winning streak? How will the newly-found alliance between Harold and Heather turn the game on its head? And even better, how will LeShawna react when her man is found with another woman?

"All this and more will be answered, right here, right now! On Total...

"Drama...

"Tournament!"

* * *

A synthesized version of the theme song blared from an alarm clock at the foot of a sleeping bag. Mumbling to himself, the hand of Bingo G. Nib smacked the timepiece before stretching and smacking himself across the face; a typical morning routine for an already stressed intern.

"Mornin', Izzy," Bingo muttered, walking outside of the tent he called home.

It took a few seconds before he realized what had just come out of his mouth.

"Izzy?" he repeated, looking back into the tent.

Indeed, there she was, lying down on her side in a fittingly orange sleeping bag, adjacent to the intern's black bag.

"Oh, hiya! Care for some coffee? I sneaked it out with me when I was escaping from the RSMP! They were all like, 'oh no, it's too important, and what'll we offer the officers', but I figured it wouldn't matter since we've essentially destroyed half of their squadron, ha ha!" Izzy laughed. "So, what do you say?"

"What do I say?" Bingo replied. "What do I say? You wake up next to me in my chambers and you expect me to come up with a decent thing to say?"

"Oh, fine. You can have some coffee first!"

"That's not what I meant!" Bingo interrupted. "I... we didn't do anything we'd regret last night, did we?"

Izzy tapped her chin in thought.

"How bad is it if we made out all night?" she asked.

"Is this hypothetical?" Bingo said.

The redhead shook her head no.

"Huh. Well, I suppose it'd be pretty cool. I mean, we got along fairly well, and I don't think Owen will be too terribly crushed."

"Nah, he'll be fine! We'll just get him another microwave," Izzy said as she sat up. "But don't put any blame on me! It was all you who wanted to do this in the first place!"

Bingo's eyebrows shot up as a faint memory entered his mind...

* * *

_"Izzy! Izzy!" Bingo yelled, chasing after the excited girl._

_"Come on, put some oomph into it! You won't be catching me if you're too slow~!"_

_"This is serious business, Izzy! Love's in the air!"_

_Izzy halted in her tracks, causing the unfortunate Bingo to trip and fall in front of her legs._

_"Howdy," he mumbled, spitting out dirt._

_"Did you say love was in the air? I could've sworn it was just what remained of Owen, but I've been wrong before!"_

_"No, I'm serious. I just saw another couple going at it, and... well..."_

_Izzy gave a sly smirk to the intern._

_"Oh, don't worry, Bingo. I'll take good care of you..."_

* * *

Forcing his way back into reality, Bingo slapped himself for the second time in under an hour.

"Izzy, I wasn't myself that evening. You could tell that. Everyone could. I just... it was the heat of the moment, you know?" Bingo said, rubbing the back of his head as he glanced towards the exit flap.

"Really? From what you displayed last night, it sure didn't seem like something that would only happen in the 'heat of the moment,'" Izzy responded, another smirk on her face.

Bingo slowly turned to the cameraman.

"Please don't tell me you have footage."

The cameraman extended a thumbs down.

"Oh, shit."

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Bingo** - "Well, looks like it's going to be a long season. Three days in, and I've found myself courting one of the contestants! If word of this gets out to Chris or Chef, I'll be packing my bags. I need this internship for my college degree, and if this means I'm going to have to hide evidence, then I'll have to get rid of the evidence."

**Izzy** - "Oh, Bingo. I can't tell if you're cuter when you're not overly worried about your well-being, or you are. Then again, you're cute all the time, aren't ya!"

**Bingo** - "Something tells me I should be blushing right now..."

* * *

As the thirteen contestants took their seats in the mess hall, Chris once again ran to the Wheel of Challenges, complete with skidding to a stop in front of it.

"It's that time again!" Chris announced.

"To wonder why we start every day in the exact same fashion?" Heather asked, arms crossed.

"To dedicate this next challenge to somebody special?" Trent said, giving a sidelong glance at Gwen.

"Nope! It's time to determine what today's challenge is. And to do so, we turn to our good friend, the Wheel of Challenges!

"Wheel of Challenges, spin, spin, spin...

"Tell us the challenge we'll partake in...

"Challenge number five!"

The pseudo-fax machine spat out a small sheet of paper, which Chris nabbed.

"Huh. Looks like today's going to be based on a popular computer game!" the host said, looking up from the paper.

"Sweet!" Harold said with a pump of his fist. "Maybe now we can get that Minecraft challenge done!"

"Today's challenge is based on a game that has been around for a few years now..."

"See, one team would try to build a monument, probably dedicated to Chris or something..."

"And it has whiled away countless hours of productivity from nerds across the world!"

"And the other team, they're like the Creepers or something, so they're gonna explode their sculptures!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mine-"

"LAY IT ON ME, YOU BEAUTIFUL HOST, YOU!"

"Sweeper!"

The agonizing cry of a nerd with broken dreams echoed throughout the campgrounds.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Harold** - "I wasn't terribly disappointed with today's challenge, no. Sure, mine was way better... and would have been a lot more fun..."

\Harold sits in silence, a solitary tear descending down his face.\

* * *

After finishing their meal, the contestants had hurried outside to where two gigantic five-by-five grids had been painted onto the grass below their feet.

"Now since we're all members of the techno-savvy age, I can assume we've all played Minesweeper, and for those who haven't," the host paused, staring down a ready-to-interrupt Ezekiel, "let me give you a quick rundown of the rules.

"Somewhere in these squares you'll find five mines that you'll have to mark with our special Chris McLean-brand flags." Chris paused here to point at the flags, each corresponding with their team colors and, yes, brandished with the face of a grinning Chris McLean.

"However, in order to do that, your first goal is to find any squares that don't have mines! When you do so, a little number will show up, like so."

Walking over to a third set of squares, Chris nudged his foot on a patch of land. The number "2" emerged from the ground, to the genuine excitement of a majority of the crowd, Noah notwithstanding.

"These numbers will tell you how many mines that square is touching. Use the numbers, find the mines, and you win."

"What happens if you touch a square with a mine?" Courtney asked.

"Ha ha ha. I wouldn't want to ruin the fun, now would I?" he said in response, followed by another bit of devilish laughter. "That being said, if you mark a square without a mine, you'll be docked a point. Every square correctly marked gets you a point. Blow up a mine?"

Another bit of laughter.

"Something tells me that the score will be the least of your worries for that. Anyways, Chef and Bingo will watch over you guys, while I take a well-earned siesta. Have fun, contestants!"

As the host walked away, the burly man and the intern approached the Killer Champs and the Screaming Losers, respectively.

"There you go. Now just keep me out of this," Chef grumbled, tossing five flags into Duncan's arms.

"Ha, nice. Maybe now I can impale Dork Tracy over here," Duncan said, aiming the flag's sharper end at Harold.

"Whoa, wait! What makes you think there's a mine inside of me?" the nerd protested, putting his hands in front of him.

"Not a lot, to be honest. I just like seeing you endure pain," Duncan said.

"Oh, well, that's okay then," Harold said, lowering his hands. "Wait..."

"If you insist!"

Fortunately, Heather's hand grabbed the pole before it could stab Harold's now unguarded kiwis.

"Don't think about it, jaybird. I'm not going to go through that crappy office to save your sorry ass twice in this lifetime," Heather said.

"Fine, whatever," Duncan mumbled, throwing the flags down to the ground. "Never knew you cared so much."

"Oh, and you'd better NOT be carin' if you know what's good for ya!" LeShawna called out, aiming a somehow frightening finger at her thinner foe.

"Guys, come on. Let's just get this over with," Gwen said, picking up the flags again and walking towards the grid.

Harold and Heather kept up at the rear, the lankier one giving a thumbs-up of approval.

"I owe you another one, m'lady," Harold said, offering a slight bow of courtesy. Heather rolled her eyes.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Heather** - "Look, just because Harold and I are in an alliance, and just because we made out once, doesn't mean I'm going to take care of him forever. I just have to keep him alive long enough to win this game, and finally get my well-deserved cash!"

* * *

"All right, Harold. Since you're the only one who knows anything about this, I have no choice but to," Courtney paused mid-sentence to smack her hand against her face, "make... you... leader."

"What?" Harold asked no one in particular. "But I'm not good at Minesweeper! Didn't you hear my agonized cries earlier today? This isn't what I was expecting, and despite my array of mad skills, improvisation isn't among them!"

"Harold..."

"I'm sorry, all right? I can't do this job!"

"Perhaps we should have a little, shall we say, pep talk," Heather spoke up. "I'll get him back in working order."

"No! I refuse!" Courtney cried out. "That would be tearing away from progress that we could be making!"

"And you think _they_ can do much better?" Heather retorted, pointing her thumb at the Screaming Losers.

Indeed, they weren't in the best of decisions. Ezekiel was still awestruck by the neon number on Chris' example graph, Eva was scratching her head, Noah's face was still blocked by a large book, Justin was admiring his reflection in a nearby puddle, Trent was nowhere to be seen, and Izzy was drinking the rest of her stolen coffee. Only Bridgette seemed to have any interest in the challenge, though despite her better efforts she couldn't get the rest of the team in working order.

"I see your point," Courtney said. "All right, you can have him for a while. Just don't take too long!"

"Trust me, I'll only need a couple minutes."

With that, Heather grabbed Harold by the collar and dragged him off.

"I'm gonna take five as well, if that's all right," Gwen said. "I need to find out what Trent's up to."

"Aw, isn't that sweet," Duncan said, though there was more venom in that phrase then teasing. "Go ahead and find your little boyfriend to see if he's all right. He's on the other team! How are we supposed to know that you're not giving away our big secrets?"

"We have big secrets?"

"...Aside from that fact! You could be making an alliance behind our backs, for all we know!"

"You don't seem to mind that Harold and Heather have one, or that you and Courtney most likely have one."

Duncan blinked, before Courtney slapped him back into reality.

"Don't just stand there! Protect our positions in the team!" the perfectionist ordered.

"Hey, what do you think I've been trying to do here, princess? She's got her feet in the ground firmer than that stick up your ass!"

"God, you brute! Why do I keep thinking there's some goodness inside of your heart?"

"Um... yeah, I'm gonna go for a while," Gwen said to the arguing couple, who paid her no mind.

LeShawna, being the only one without someone to pursue or argue with, set her eyes on Chef Hatchet.

"Aw, no," the burly man muttered.

* * *

"So by pep talk, you do mean we make out in the middle of the woods for a few minutes, right?" Harold asked, his eyebrows raised in expectant pleasure.

Heather responded by pulling him closer, though she gave him a quick knee to the shins before their lips could meet.

"Don't count on it," Heather said. "We're here to talk strategy, and strategy alone!"

"I don't see why we couldn't have done this before the challenge began," Harold muttered, though he seemed fairly compliant. "All right, so what's your deal?"

"The next chance we get, we boot out LeShawna."

Harold gasped for air, and possibly for dramatic effect.

"You can't be serious!"

"I wouldn't kid about something like this," the queen bee responded. "She's a force to be reckoned with, Harold, and you know this better than anybody. She has it out for you because Courtney has it out for you, and you'll be stuck in a loop of physical harm for longer than I'd be willing to allow it. She's the first link."

"Why can't we eliminate Duncan instead?" Harold asked. "Wouldn't that weaken Courtney as well?"

Another knee to the shins.

"Get your head in the game! That'd just make Courtney madder, and LeShawna would follow suit. God, can't you think straight?"

"Not around you, I can't," Harold replied, giving a sheepish grin.

Despite her better efforts, Heather's cheeks turned a rosy pink.

"Sh-shut up! This is strategy talk!" she said, trying to regain her composure. "Look, just do what I say, all right? You've made it obvious enough that you can't make a good decision to save your life!"

"I'd say picking you as my alliance partner was a good decision," the nerd responded, squinting in anticipation for the shin-kick to come.

Surprising even herself, Heather did not follow suit.

"I hope you realize that one day your sweet-talking won't work," she grumbled.

"Anything for m'lady's sake."

The make-out session that followed would have made Geoff blush.

* * *

Gwen found Trent exactly where she expected; sitting on the dock, strumming away at his newly-repaired acoustic guitar.

"Hey," she greeted with a brief wave.

"Hey," he responded.

She sat down next to him.

"So, what's up? It's not like you to avoid your teammates like that," Gwen said.

"Nah, you'd be surprised. When a team consists of Izzy, Eva, and Noah, you find your alone time more precious than you'd expect."

"But why leave before the challenge is even over?"

"Noah's smart. I bet he'll be able to figure it out in due time."

* * *

"Noah?" Bingo asked, tapping on the front cover of the schemer's novel.

"Mmm."

"Hey, Noah. Come on, man, answer me."

"Not now, Bingo."

"Dude, have you seen your teammates? They're a wreck! You've got to get in there and do something!"

Noah remained unresponsive. Bingo cocked an eyebrow; surely Noah would have come up with some sort of snarky comment to say by now.

"Are you hiding something in there?" the intern asked, trying to peer over the pages.

"No. Go away."

"Hey, what's going on over here?" Eva's voice interrupted. "Is egghead not willing to participate again?"

"Why aren't you leaving me alone?" Noah muttered, fishing out a pair of ear plugs from his pocket. Eva grabbed the book from his hands, making the cynic have to stand up from his position. The plugs were returned to his pocket.

"Look, brainiac. I'm no good with these number puzzles. You used your smarts last time, why not do it again?" Eva asked.

Noah looked away.

"Come on, Noah," Bingo said.

"I... I've never played Minesweeper," Noah whispered.

"Speak up, egghead!" Eva demanded.

"I've never played Minesweeper!" Noah near-shouted.

The five other Losers turned their heads toward Noah, who wanted nothing more than to return to the comfort of his book.

* * *

"You hear something?" Trent asked. "Sounded like another agonized cry."

"You sound like you're not expecting that from this show," Gwen said with a chuckle. Trent laughed along as well.

"So what brings you here, then?" Trent said, turning back to the goth. "Shouldn't you be working for that cash prize?"

Gwen sighed. "I was worried about you, so I came out to look for you. Is that a problem?"

Trent shook his head, though his attention reverted back to his guitar.

"I'm worried about us, Gwen," he said after a few minutes.

"How do you mean?" she replied. "Like, as a couple, or as contestants, or what?"

"I'm talking about Duncan," Trent said. "I know for a fact that he's got his eye on you, and that he'll do anything to win you over."

"But he still has Courtney, doesn't he?" Gwen responded. "She'd go ballistic if Duncan cheated on her!"

"That may be what he's looking for," the musician said, shaking his head. "If he wins you over, Courtney's anger would make her detrimental to their team. Boom, he knocks her out of the competition. After that, he'd get his grubby hands all over you, and you'd fall for him in a second."

"That's not true!" Gwen shouted, standing up.

"How do I not know you're just saying that?"

Gwen picked Trent up by the arms, closely embraced him, and gave him a big kiss. The musician's hands held tight to the guitar, which was dangerously close to falling into the water, though he eventually gave in and returned the favor.

After a few minutes, Gwen finally backed away from a momentarily stunned Trent.

"Would I be able to do that if I had the hots for Duncan?" she said, arms crossed in a semi-victory pose.

"Probably. I imagine you've done that with him before. You can win over a lot of people by doing something like that," Trent said, once again focused on his instrument.

Gwen let out a shout of frustration. "Why won't you believe me? What happened to trusting each other and talking about our emotions?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Trent grumbled, picking himself up. "Look, something tells me that my team needs me. Sorry for wasting your time. Just... watch out for Duncan, all right?"

With that, the musician paced back to the site of the miniature minefields, leaving Gwen to let out an agonized cry of her own.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Trent** – "I know, it looks like I've just blown it. But honesty is the best policy, and I can't stand around another day, knowing that Duncan's waiting for his one chance to take away the best thing that's ever happened to me. That makes sense, right?"

* * *

"Oh, this is good. This is too good!" Justin said between laughs. "Noah, the egghead, the cynic, the man who would rather sit at home than see the outside world, has never played Minesweeper! Even _I've_ played Minesweeper before!"

"Yes, we know," Noah grumbled. "It's not like you've been saying that every two minutes or anything."

"Aw, cheer up, Noah!" Izzy said, finishing up her last cup of coffee. "We all have our limits! I mean, I can't stand on my head for twenty years straight with broken legs. But I bet you could, because of your totally rectangular head!"

"Um... thank you, Izzy," the cynic said. "If we ever have to do that for a challenge, I'll be first in line to help."

"Well, there's no point in just standing around here. We've got to do something, or else the Champs will win again!" Bridgette said.

Of course, it was at that time that the Losers realized that the Champs team consisted of a bickering Duncan and Courtney, and LeShawna, who was currently busy using Chef Hatchet as a punching bag.

"Well, we still have to do something," Bridgette repeated. "And Noah, you're the best person here with puzzles like this! We can't do this without you!"

"Well, it looks like you'll have to, doesn't it?" Noah responded, now in full-on deadpan snarker form. "I have no idea how I would go about doing this. Look, you were decent with those logic puzzles, weren't you? Why don't you lead us?"

Bridgette paused momentarily, before giving a small smile.

"All right, then I will. But in return, you're going to be the one who's testing these squares to see which ones have mines."

Noah gave a smile of his own.

"You've got yourself a deal."

The two shook hands, as Justin's laughter became even more powerful.

"Nice to see you're finally embracing your best purpose on the show, loser! You're nothing more than just a pawn!"

"Oh, I wouldn't laugh for much longer, anti-me," Noah said, his smile unwavering. "I'm not getting on here alone."

Justin's eyebrows soared.

"You don't mean…"

"I'm afraid he's right, Justin. Noah can't carry all these flags himself!" Bridgette chimed in, tossing a few flags into the arms of the model.

"But… but… I'm too handsome to go out into a minefield! I have a reputation to uphold, don't I?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. One misstep, and you'll add a whole new meaning to being the bomb," Noah responded, to the general laughter of his fellow teammates.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Justin** – "You know, I can deal with a lot of things in life. Grey hairs? Wrinkles? One eyebrow slightly lower than the other? These are things that can be changed quickly and easily. What can't be changed? Noah. He's got to get going as soon as possible, before he wins over anybody else."

**Noah** – "If anti-me thinks he's going to outlast me, he can think again. Then again, I have my doubts that anti-me can think at all, so it might be a while before he can even do so in the first place."

* * *

"All right, Noah, I know we've got about an eighty percent chance of not hitting a mine, so just step on one of the corners," Bridgette said, pointing at the ends of the grid.

"Whatever you say," the cynic responded with a pseudo-salute. Wincing, he extended his right foot onto the ground before him.

He exhaled. The number "1" showed up, a blue number compared to the green "2" on the example grid, but a number nonetheless.

"That's no good," Bridgette said with a snap of her fingers. "There's still some room for error. Justin, you try a corner as well."

"But… but…"

"It's for the good of the team, Justin."

The model sighed, but stepped onto his corner. The familiar "2" lit up.

"Step away, Justin!" the surfer girl warned. "You're right next to a mine!"

"Yipes!" Justin shrieked before jogging away from the explosion's location.

As Bridgette ordered the opposite men around, Bingo inched slowly to Ezekiel, who was still in awe of the example grid.

"Zeke. Zeke. Pssst, Zeke!" Bingo whispered between grated teeth, tapping the homeschooled boy on the shoulder.

"Hm? What is it, eh?" Ezekiel asked, regaining his senses.

"I've got a bit of an… issue, let's call it," the intern began. "I think Izzy might want to go out with me, but I'm about seventy-five percent sure that it may mean the end of my internship here, and that means that I'm out of university funds for a long while. Help a brother out?"

"Well, I don't think we're related, eh, but sure," Ezekiel responded, naïve as ever.

"Yeah, great. Look, we need to plan something. If either Chris or Chef finds out about this, from a cameraman or directly, I'm out of here. We need to make sure that doesn't happen. Sounds easy, right?"

"I… think so?"

"Sweet. Look, I need you to flirt with Izzy for a while. Can you do that for me?"

Ezekiel's toque rose from his head in the way that only a cartoon hat could.

"But… but… but she's a girl, eh!" Ezekiel sputtered. "I'm no good with girls since last season. I'm no good with girls ever!"

"Look, it'll be easy. That, and she likes you. It'll be easy. Just tell her how much you like her and all that, and everything will be squared away."

"Oh, like the grid?"

Bingo's face fell.

"Sure, Zeke. Like the grid. Would you just go and talk with her?" the intern said, clearly a little fatigued with speaking with the homeschooled teen.

Ezekiel gave a nod of understanding, and turned to look for Izzy.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Bingo** – "Do I feel guilty for putting Zeke into all of this? Yeah, kind of. But I had no other choice! In a world where love and internships clash, you've got to make some sacrifices to appease both ends. And today's sacrifice was Zeke. No hard feelings, bro!"

* * *

After a good bickering session, Courtney turned to face the Screaming Losers to find that they were actually making progress.

"Agh, I KNEW this would happen!" the C.I.T. shouted. "All this wouldn't have happened if you two didn't leave!"

As if on cue, Harold and Heather reentered the scene, the former clearly dazed from the heavy kissing.

"Where were you two for all this time? Now we've completely fallen behind, and it's all your fault!" Courtney yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at the couple.

"Some pep talks take longer than others, and as you should know better than anyone, some pep talks also take longer to become effective," Heather responded, a slightly sinister grin on her face.

"It's in the way that you use it~!" Harold sang, having not fully recovered from his stupor yet.

"Something tells me that's no pep talk that he went under," the perfectionist grumbled.

"Sounds like somebody's a little grumpy that they didn't get their quality make-out time," Duncan said, nudging his sometimes-girlfriend with his elbow.

"Don't get me started with you again."

"Oh, good! I got back just in time to see that nothing has changed."

Courtney's eyes shot daggers once again, though this time her target was Gwen.

"And you! You sneaked out when I didn't have my eye on you, but I know for a fact that you were out doing something… sneaky!"

"If by 'sneaky' you mean 'my boyfriend thinks I'm dating your boyfriend,' then congratulations on winning the ESP contest."

"Hey, I could go for that," Duncan said, a sly grin on his face.

"Not now, Duncan," Gwen replied, though her face said otherwise.

"It comes and it goes~!"

"Harold, please," Heather whispered, trying to silence her alliance partner.

"Hey, if he's giving her up, I've got as much dibs on her as anyone else. You're clearly not in the market for me," Duncan grumbled at Courtney, who audibly gasped in a much too surprised fashion.

"A market? You think this is all just a game, Duncan?"

"Well, it is a competition for a grand prize, so I'd say so."

"I mean our relationship, dumbass!"

"Whoa there, no need for words like that there, princess."

"Don't you dare call me that! Not unless you actually mean it!"

"It's in the way that you use it~!"

"Harold!" Heather repeated, covering the nerd's mouth with her hand.

"Who says I can't call you that? What are you gonna do, sic your little lawyers on me or something?" Duncan said, his face now reverted to its angry, punk-rocker state.

"Verbal harassment can be punished, so yes. I. Can!" Courtney responded, emphasizing each word in, again, an overly dramatic fashion. "And I'll get a restraining order after I kick your sorry behind off of this show!"

"Ooh, a sheet of paper. How frightening. It's not like I've got a lighter on me or anything," Duncan retorted, whipping out the aforementioned Zippo. "And maybe you'll be the next target of its flame if you don't shut your trap."

"Go get her, Duncan!" Gwen cheered. Of course, it was at that exact time that Trent walked in to the Loser's side.

"I knew it," Trent mumbled to himself. "I knew that she had it in for him."

"Don't you even pretend to threaten me, or I'll make your punishment more severe than your puny mind can even imagine!" Courtney shouted, pulling out her not-as-threatening PDA.

"Boy don't you know~!"

"_Shut up, Harold_!" came the shout from the Killer Champs.

"You know what? Forget this. I have a competition to win," Courtney said, turning her back to her possible ex-boyfriend.

Picking up one of the flags from the stack, she approached the untouched grid of the Killer Champs, and put her foot on the first square she could see.

The explosion that resulted was a deafening, earth-shaking one, one that caused even LeShawna to let up on Chef Hatchet for a few moments.

"Courtney? Hey, Courtney!" Bridgette yelled.

There was no response.

* * *

**Author's Note: I thank you for reading.**


	9. Day 4, Part 2: Seeing White

The smokescreen had not yet cleared from the explosion, and nobody had moved from their positions. Despite Courtney's less-than-appealing attitude, she was still a contestant, and it wasn't right for anybody to be left behind.

"This is your fault... this is your fault!" Duncan shouted, hoisting Harold up by the throat and throttling him. "I _knew_ you were trouble when you walked in!"

"Oh..." Harold muttered, still a bit queasy from his make-out session.

"Trouble!"

"Ooh..."

"_Trouble_!"

"Go get him, sweetie!" a familiar voice cheered.

Duncan let go of his grip on the nerd. There stood Courtney, alive and kicking, albeit covered in a mysterious white goo.

"Princess? You're alive?" Duncan asked, as stunned as anybody else.

"Of course I am! You honestly think that Chris would have the balls to get rid of me when my lawyers are still ready to take down anything he has to offer?" she said, seemingly unaware of the gunk covering her person.

After dusting himself off, Harold put it upon himself to stick a finger into the source of the white goo to determine its origin. Giving it a sniff, he then stuck his finger into his mouth, much to the disgust of the onlookers.

"Marshmallow fluff?" Harold asked no one in particular.

"You've hit the nail on the head," Bingo said from the other side of the field. "While those mines will be unaffected after a small electromagnetic pulse from the tail end of those flags, hitting it with anything else will cover the poor sap in sweet sap."

"Awesome," Harold commented. "But now I'm a little hungry..."

"Don't even think about it," Duncan and Courtney simultaneously growled.

* * *

After the hype from the mine's explosion had ended, it was back to business for both teams, despite business having quite a different meaning for each side. For the Killer Champs, it meant struggling to get Harold off of cloud nine and back into the game as the leader for the logic puzzle, with the others carefully planting flags where they belonged.

For the Screaming Losers, it meant something entirely different.

"Um... hello? A little help here?" Noah cried out, carefully balancing his weight on the square that he was trapped on. Mines surrounded him on all sides, and the cynic knew that if there was one thing he couldn't do even if he tried, it would be to jump out of here.

The other contestants, as one could predict, were far from ready to help the bookworm out in his time of need.

Ezekiel, in particular, had finally managed the courage to inch his way towards Izzy.

"Er... that's a... nice skirt you've got on today, eh?" the homeschooled boy said, maneuvering his way through the sentence in a psychological minefield of his own.

"Oh, thanks! I stitched it together out of what I found on the ground in front of one of my old psychiatric hospitals. I always was a firm believer in recycling!" Izzy responded.

Ezekiel shuddered.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Ezekiel** - "Somethin' tells me this is going to be the hardest part of the competition, eh? I can't tell when Izzy's bein' serious, or when she's pushing my arm. But I don't want to let Bingo down... so I'll do my best."

* * *

"Well, that's nice. I also... like... recycling..." Ezekiel stuttered. "It's fun to reuse things, isn't it?"

Izzy cocked an eyebrow.

"You doing all right, Zeke?" the crazy girl asked. "I don't think I've ever seen you struggle so much with a sentence. And that's saying something!"

"No, I'm... I'm just fine, eh? Fit as a viola!"

"Fiddle."

"Whichever, eh?"

Izzy sighed.

"Look, Zeke, I know what you're trying to do. I think it's sweet that you're trying to help out Bingo, but he doesn't need to worry so much. We can keep everything our little secret, but I'll need your help to make sure it remains that way. Can you do that?"

Ezekiel's eyebrows skyrocketed.

"How did you figure all that out, eh?"

Izzy gave a little chuckle.

"Is there really anything else you would be talking to him about?"

Ezekiel gave a laugh of his own, rubbing his head sheepishly.

"Yeah... I guess not, eh?"

"Hey, you two! Can the socializing wait until after you save my butt from the mines?" Noah yelled.

"I'll go deliver the news," Ezekiel said, pointing a thumb at the intern.

"And I'll go deliver him from peril," Izzy responded, her thumb pointed at Noah.

"It couldn't wait until before you were done playing matchmaker?" Noah grumbled, desperately trying to both maintain balance and read his novel.

"Temper, temper," Izzy said as she searched for a vine.

Ezekiel, on the other hand, meandered over to where Bingo was to give him the news.

"What'd she say? Did it work? I bet it totally worked," Bingo said.

Ezekiel shook his head, before explaining what Izzy had told him. Bingo's face fell.

"Aw, no. That's the one bit of news I didn't want to hear from ya, Zeke," the intern said, now much more depressed than the prairie boy had ever seen him.

"What's the matter, eh?" Ezekiel asked.

"Don't you know how these things work, Zeke? If the girl says something, she obviously means the opposite. It's a genetics thing. Izzy's fallen for you, I'm willing to bet. She's probably sent me up the river already."

Ezekiel shook his head.

"Izzy's not that kind o' girl, eh? I know she can be a bit crazy, but she isn't a liar."

Ezekiel paused, going back over what he just said.

"Wait a minute..."

"There you go, Zeke! You've figured it out as well!" Bingo cried out, his hands covering his face. "Aw, I knew it was too good to be true!"

"Well... I'll let her down gently, I suppose," Ezekiel said with a shrug, turning back to his teammates and leaving the intern to wallow in his despair.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Bingo** - "Goodbye, camera in the outhouse that I installed! You were my only friend in this cruel world of ours!"

* * *

As Ezekiel approached the grid, he stopped mid-step, his mouth agape.

Somehow, in the few minutes he spent talking with Bingo, half of his team had ended up on that same, individual square. Noah, at the bottom, was struggling to keep up the weight of Izzy, Trent, and Bridgette.

"Would someone please remind me how we got into this predicament?" Noah grumbled, his words muffled from the strain of the weight.

"Well, I soared to your rescue through the help of a vine..." Izzy began.

"But then you got stuck, right? So I had to maneuver my way over here, but I almost tripped, and you caught me," Trent continued.

"So I came in and tried to help as well, but I also tripped since I'm no good on land," Bridgette finished. "And now we're all stuck."

"And would either Eva or the anti-me care to give a reason as to why they haven't decided to save us yet?" Noah asked.

"Hey, I'm just trying to focus on the challenge. No offense, but we've got to pick up the pace," Eva said. "What about you, pretty boy? You want to save your teammates?"

"Oh, no no no no no!" Justin quickly said with a shake of his head.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Noah muttered.

"Well, I'll see what I can do, eh?" Ezekiel said, pulling out his trusty bow.

"Whoa, watch where you're aiming that thing, man!" Trent said. "We want to be saved, not spayed!"

"Actually, that may just be what we need to get out of here!" Bridgette exclaimed. "Zeke, can you find something sticky to fire with your bow?"

Ezekiel turned his gaze to the other side of the field, where Courtney's marshmallow fluff had almost been removed from her person.

"I just may have the solution, eh?"

* * *

"Well, that's it," Harold said, after planting the fourth flag into the ground. "Aside from the mine that _somebody_ activated," he turned to give a glare to Courtney, who was currently making out with her boyfriend of the past few minutes, "we're all set. Now we just need to get Chris."

"Looks like that may be the hardest part of the challenge," Gwen commented. "Since he's taking a nap, it's up to either Chef or Bingo to find him. And since Chef is..."

The goth girl turned to see if LeShawna had resumed her beating up of the burly cook. She had.

"...Out of commission, it's up to him to do so."

"Well, he won't be going anywhere soon, from the looks of it," Heather said with a scoff, looking at the currently weeping Bingo. "Maybe it'd be for the best if we go get him."

* * *

"Well, I'm gonna go search for Chris," Eva said, pointing a thumb to where she expected the host may be.

"Are you crazy? You're just going to leave us here?" Trent yelled.

"Hey, not for long. We've got all five flags planted, right? We just need to find that sadist and have him declare us the winner. That'll take five minutes, tops."

"Well, couldn't we just send Justin instead?" Bridgette asked.

Eva's face went deathly serious as she pointed towards the wannabe model, who was currently trying to protect his toes from a ladybug.

"Good point. Just hurry back, all right?"

Eva gave a small grin.

"Hey, don't worry about me. If there's anyone here who can get somewhere quick, that'd be me."

* * *

"Okay, change of plans, change of plans!" Harold shouted. "We've got to stop Eva from finding Chris!"

"They've planted their five flags already?" Gwen said. "You'd expect a team like that to just mess up in the first few minutes."

"Looks like that's your job!" Eva said before sprinting past the Killer Champs.

"I applaud her timing, but I hate it as well," Harold remarked. "The thing is, what's the only thing that could distract Eva from a well-earned victory?"

The nerd and the goth turned their heads towards Heather.

"No way. I am _not_ going to risk my life for that freak to chase me around the island!" the queen bee said, arms folded.

"Oh, come on. I thought you liked having people chasing after you," Gwen teased.

"Just pretend it's me, except if I wasn't incredibly handsome," Harold remarked.

Heather's eyes narrowed, but she eventually heaved a sigh of defeat.

"All right, I'll do it."

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Heather** – "And before any of you start asking, no, it wasn't just because Harold told me to. I'm doing this to win that money, and nothing else!"

**Harold** – "Isn't it cute how she still denies the fact that she's madly in love with me? I guess we can't all be perfect."

* * *

As expected, Chris' nap was taking place in a hammock just outside of his RV. A glass of juice was sitting at the host's side, complete with toothpick umbrella.

Chris raised his sunglasses as he saw the silouette of Eva heading towards him.

"Wakey-wakey, McLean!" the jockette yelled. "We've got all five flags planted!"

"Sounds good. Lemme just head over and give it a look myself," the host said before letting out a huge yawn.

"What's wrong, Eva? Decide to give up already?"

Eva turned around, her unibrow lower than ever. There stood her arch-nemesis, Heather, taunting her. All that was missing was a red sheet.

"Or maybe you're just so pig-headed that you had to ask Chris how to play the game? Wouldn't surprise me; it's not like you were second-eliminated or anything!"

"I'll spare your life if you zip your lip," Eva snarled.

"Ooooh, how scary. What do you think you're gonna do when the host is right behind you, huh?"

Eva turned around. Chris had fully awoken, and was watching the action unfold with an evil grin of his own.

"She's got a point," the host commented. "You might wanna consider moving the action away from my house if you'd like to compete for much longer."

"So come and get me!" Heather taunted again, beginning her imminent run for her life.

"They never want to do it the easy way, do they..." Eva grumbled before starting a run of her own.

* * *

After collecting the remnants of the marshmallow fluff (aside from a perplexed glance from Gwen, there wasn't much in the way of a barrier), Ezekiel molded together an improvised arrow, making sure that it could both maintain shape and keep its adhesive structure.

Cocking the arrow in his bow, the prairie boy took aim, taking into account every variable that mattered in a shot. Wind direction, wind speed, maintaining the center of a moving target...

The only thing that he didn't expect was to hear the piercing shriek of Heather running away from a charging Eva. Clearly startled, Ezekiel's shot went far to the right of his aim, clocking Justin in the head. Noah bit his tongue to stop himself from cheering.

As Heather ran around the island, she somehow managed to avoid everything in her path. From the pseudo-punching bag that was Chef Hatchet to the Sasquatchanakwa contemplating life over a plate of tea and crumpets that he may or may not have created, nothing stood in Heather's way.

Nothing, that is, until her path came directly in front of a weeping Bingo G. Nib.

While Heather managed to barely sidestep the intern, Eva was not so lucky, and ended up running straight into the dark-haired teen, sending him careening towards the stack of losers in the middle of the minefield.

The intern made impact, and the teens all fell down to where the mines were labeled.

An even greater explosion echoed through the island, ending with four contestants and an intern covered in marshmallow fluff.

"Well, that was easy to decide. The Killer Champs are the winners for this challenge!" Chris announced, much to the delight of the champs and Chef, who finally had an opportunity to escape from the grasp of LeShawna.

"Losers, I'll be seeing you later tonight for another elimination ceremony. Pick your favorite… um… loser, and we'll see who lasts!"

* * *

The Chrisoseum was as grey and foreboding as ever, at least as foreboding as a building with the head of an egotistical reality show host on it could be.

The seven Screaming Losers sat in their small chairs, staring down Chris McLean, who held a platter with six foil-wrapped chocolate trophies. Chef and Bingo stood next to him, if not for insurance than for the screen time that their contracts permitted.

"I have here six Chris Cups," the host began. "When I call your name, you will receive one of these cups, and you will be safe. The contestant who does not receive a Chris Cup will be eliminated, and will not be able to come back.

"Ever. For real this time.

"The following contestants are safe… Trent!"

The musician gave a small smile as he grabbed his trophy.

"Izzy and Ezekiel!"

The two friends clinked their cups before throwing them away, leaving a grumbling Bingo to pick them up.

"Noah… and Bridgette!"

The cynic and the surfer grabbed their respective cups.

"So, it comes down to you two. Justin and Eva," Chris said. "The man who refused to do anything, and the woman who did, and lost it all. One of you will be getting the boot tonight."

Justin was sweating bullets, while Eva simply stared down the foil-wrapped prize.

"Contestants, the final Chris Cup of the evening goes to…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…Justin."

The model breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed his prize.

"You'd better watch your backs," he warned. "I do not want to be back here for a _very_ long time."

"Eva, looks like your time is up," Chris said, ignoring Justin's warning.

The jockette stood up, eyeing down each separate member of the team. Fortunately, she did not do anything wreckless.

"You know what? You guys made the right choice," Eva said. "I'll have to hand it to you, you can use your heads."

It was at that time, unfortunately, that Eva's other side came through.

"But if you think you're going to be winning any physical events without me, you've got another thing coming."

With that, Eva turned and headed to the Dock of Shame.

"Huh. Can't say that I expected her to leave so easily," Chris remarked. "But hey, you guys are safe for another day. Get some rest… and take a shower! You all smell like... marshmallow fluff. Ech."

* * *

LeShawna gave out a sigh of ecstacy as she walked out of the steaming shower, a two firmly wrapped around her person.

"Hey, girl!" the sister called out to Gwen, who was sitting outside of the girls' cabin for the Champs.

"LeShawna? Are you doing all right?" Gwen asked. "You seem… chipper."

"Hey, don't worry about me, hon," LeShawna said. "Sure, things are a little fuzzy for what actually happened today, but I'm sure it's no big deal."

"No big deal? You tied up Chef Hatchet and beat the crap out of him!"

LeShawna gave the goth a long stare before cracking up into hysterics.

"Girl, you must be going crazy. Island air getting to you, or what?"

"No, LeShawna, I'm serious! You were beating on him all day without a bit of remorse. You can't tell me you don't remember this!"

LeShawna stopped laughing.

"Now you've got me really worried about you. I'm telling you, Gwen, I didn't do anything like that. My memory may be a bit hazy, but there ain't no way I delivered a smackdown to the likes of Chef Hatchet!"

As luck would have it, it was at that point that Chef Hatchet was walking down the fields, whistling a tune. When his gaze met LeShawna's, the grown man yelped, and dashed away in the opposite direction.

"Huh. That's odd. Maybe he just got a li'l nervous, seeing me wearing so little and all that," LeShawna remarked.

"Or maybe he remembers that just earlier, you were delivering countless punches to his cranium, and he didn't exactly want to relive that experience today," Gwen said.

"Look, Gwen, I'm tired of this schtick, all right? I just got done having a very relaxing shower, and I don't want any of these rumors flying around about me," LeShawna replied, clearly very distraught. "Just get out of my way so I can take my meds and get some sleep."

Gwen cocked an eyebrow. "Meds?"

"Yeah, girl. I got some sleep medication since I've been off my schedule after last season. Works like a charm."

Gwen's eyebrow did not move. "Whatever you say. I hope you can get some sleep, though."

LeShawna reverted back to her standard grin. "Hey, don't worry. You just don't cause any rumors to be spread, all right?"

Gwen grinned back. "It's a deal."

* * *

On the other side of the campgrounds, Trent sat, once again strumming away at his trusty guitar.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Trent's eyebrows lowered. Justin walked up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder which Trent immediately removed.

"Go away, Justin," Trent muttered.

"Oh, now don't be like that, Trent. Can't we just have a little discussion without worrying about the challenge?"

"No, we can't."

Justin frowned, but once again put his hand on Trent's shoulder.

"Look, I know why you left us in the middle of the challenge."

Trent took his eyes off of the guitar.

"Really?"

"Oh, _sure_," Justin said. "You were probably out looking for Gwen, weren't you? It's really sweet how much you care for your girlfriend."

"Don't you dare bad-mouth her," Trent muttered. "She's a better person than you'll ever be."

"Hey, I'm not saying anything about her. The problem here is with you, Trent," Justin said, pointing a finger at the musician's nose. "We don't want this to be a repeat of last season, do we? No forced eliminations just to make your girlfriend look better, or make her look up to you?"

"I'd put that blame on you if anybody," Trent responded. "At least I'm willing to try and help out the team instead of standing around aimlessly."

"We all have our limitations," Justin said defensively. "Look, all I need you to do is promise me that you won't be starting anything with Gwen behind our backs. That shouldn't be too hard to do, now should it?"

"With you, Justin, everything is hard to do."

The model gasped.

"Words hurt, Trent! All I want to do is make sure that our team's unity isn't destroyed by a rebel contestant. I'm doing this for the good of us all!"

Trent stood up, looking down at the model.

"Shut up, Justin. I know your game, and it's not going to work. Have you looked in a mirror yet? Of course you have, but you don't see what you really are. All you see is your vain self-image, engraved in that reflection for your own amusement. A reminder that physical appearances are all that matter in the world. Haven't you learned anything over these past few seasons? You can't play the game like that. Hell, you can't live your life like that! Your friendships are nothing more than some shallow attempt to make somebody honor your physique, only going after those with enough brain cells to realize that you look attractive, instead of being able to find out just how much of a cruel bastard you are. So no, Justin, I don't want anything to do with you. No alliance, no psychological trust falls, nothing. Get out of this competition, and get out of our lives."

With that, the musician picked up his guitar and walked away, leaving a stunned Justin alone on the steps.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Trent** – "You know what? That felt good. That felt really, really good."

* * *

Bingo had returned to his tent, safely snuggled up in the warmth of his sleeping bag.

"Good night, Izzy," the intern said before closing his eyes for the evening.

A few seconds passed before they were shot open once again.

"Why are you still here? _How_ are you still here?" Bingo shouted, forcing himself out of the sleeping bag.

"To clear some things up. First and foremost, I still want to date you."

Bingo's jaw dropped.

"Yeah, I know why you sent Zeke after me. I'm not entirely proud of your decision to do so, but I understand that your mind may work a little differently than others."

"Look who's talking," the intern responded.

"Secondly, there's no way I'd ever snitch about you to Chris, or anybody else. You're one of the better ideas the show has come up with, after all."

"Aw, shucks," Bingo said. "Interns, or me in particular?"

"Three guesses."

"Aren't there only two options?"

"Well, at least you'll get it right!"

Bingo smiled, and Izzy smiled back.

And, for the first time that evening, their lips made contact.

And a very well-hidden camera was giving all of that information to Chris McLean.

* * *

The harsh winds blew into the door of Stanley the microwave, though his plug stayed firm in the muddy ground. He knew that his destination was getting ever closer, and no mere windstorm would stop him from reaching his destination.

"Well, what do we have here?" a nasal voice remarked, grabbing the microwave from the ground.

Cursing his bad luck, Stanley was shoved into a cardboard box, most likely destined for a future in a garage sale. But no garage sale would slow him down.

For Stanley the microwave wanted revenge.

* * *

**Who voted for whom?**

**Ezekiel** – "I'm voting for Eva, eh? I've been studying how to play the game, and Bingo tells me that you should eliminate the most powerful members when you can. So…"

**Eva** – "Justin."

**Noah** – "Anti-me has my vote. He made me look like a team player, and when that happens, you know that you're doing something wrong."

**Justin** – "Despite my better judgment, I'm voting for Eva. Maybe if you didn't make such a ruckus, you wouldn't have caused us to lose."

**Bridgette** – "I'm voting for Justin. In a competition where teamwork matters above all else, you can't refuse to do work. That's not how the world works, and that's not how this show works."

**Izzy** – "Buh-bye, Eva! I'm voting for you because everyone else is, and today seems like a good day to follow the trends. My horoscope says so!"

**Trent** – "I vote for Eva. You lose the challenge, you lose the game. I learned that the hard way."

**Eva – Four votes**

**Justin – Three votes**

**Eliminated: Beth, Owen, Geoff, Eva.**

**Author's Note: I thank you for reading.**


	10. Day 5, Part 1: Come On and Slam

"Previously, on Total Drama Tournament!"

Despite a slight change in his wording, the intro was the same as it ever was, with the grinning host standing upon the docks.

"In one of the most explosive challenges we've had yet, the teams had to use logic and numerical skills in order to find some well-hidden mines. And given these contestants, you can bet that it was hilarious just how terrible they were!

"While Harold and Heather talked strategy, Gwen and Trent talked relationships, and Izzy and our own intern, Bingo, talked about a secret romance that wasn't so secretive after all. We've got cameras everywhere, dude.

"In the end, it was Eva who went home after costing the Screaming Losers their second loss in a row. At least they're living up to their namesake!

"Will the alliances and relationships hold up under the pressure? Will the losers get themselves back in the spotlight? And can anything get these contestants back on the ball?

"Find out right now, on the most thrilling episode yet, of Total!

"Drama!

"Tournament!"

* * *

In an almost-camera hidden free bit of land, Harold and Heather rolled around in the grass, making out as was the norm for the newly-formed couple.

After a few seconds, Heather pulled herself away from the dweeb, much to the latter's dismay.

"Now, then. Let's review our plans for getting rid of the competition, all right?" Heather asked, her expression deathly serious.

"We get rid of whoever you want to, because you're the strategist..." Harold recited.

"And why will you do this?"

"Because even my mad skills are destined to fail me someday..."

"And even if our target is LeShawna, will you agree to send her packing?"

"Yes..."

"And why will you do this?"

"Because she's a... oh, come on, Heather! I don't want to say it!"

"Then I guess you don't want my help, or my lips, anymore."

Harold's eyebrows skyrocketed.

"You wouldn't dare. You couldn't!" Harold wheezed, grasping at his heart.

"Oh, I'm very serious," Heather responded. "Now say it!"

Harold heaved a sigh.

"Because she's a big-mouthed, egotistical, untalented whore..." the nerd finished, choking back a sob.

"There. Now was that that hard?" the strategist asked.

"Yes!" Harold immediately responded.

"Hm. Well, I guess you deserve a little reward, don't you?"

Harold's eyes lit up, any signs of despair now fully removed.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Harold** - "I'll be honest, when Heather and I started going out, I thought it would just be for her to manipulate me into doing whatever she asked me to. But these past few days have really shown me that she does care for me just as much as she cares for herself."

**Heather** - "I must admit, it's easier to drag that geek around than I expected. I'll keep him under my thumb for another few challenges before sending him packing."

**Harold** - "Yeah, we're inseperable. I'd bet my keyboard on it!"

* * *

Bingo G. Nib stood at the entrance to Chris's souped-up RV, looking down once again at the notice in his hand.

The intern hadn't expected to find the emergency performance review stapled to his tent flap, though Bingo found it perplexing that anything would be stapled to his tent flap, so he paid it no mind.

After a few deep breaths, Bingo stepped up to the stairs leading to the host's door, and knocked on the door.

Unfortunately, the teenager was too caught up in the moment to stop, and ended up delivering a few knocks to the gut of Chef Hatchet.

The burly man hoisted up Bingo by the collar, and lifted him up until his fierce eyes met his frightened ones.

"Not a very good start," Chef grumbled, before tossing him backwards. The intern slid on the somehow carpeted floor until he was face-to-feet with Chris McLean.

"Ah, Bingo! So glad you could come and join us," the host said, donning a pair of spectacles. "Now then, let's run through the list. Timeliness..."

Chris peered at the clock on the opposite side of the room.

"Check-plus. Appearance..."

With a clap of the host's hands, Chef Hatchet made his way to where the intern lay. He hoisted the teenager up, felt him down, and gave a thumbs-up to his cohort.

"Check. Now all that leaves is your relationships with the other contestants."

Bingo's face fell.

"Is there something wrong? Just tell me about your relationships," Chris repeated, emphasizing every syllable.

"I get along just fine with every contestant on the island, sir!" Bingo responded, doing his best to keep a semi-professional appearance in front of his boss.

"That sounds good, Bingo, but are you sure that you don't favor some of these contestants more than others?"

"D-due to my assignments, I must admit that I spend more time with, and thus am most familiar with, the members of the Screaming Losers, sir!"

"All right. Any members in particular?"

"N-n-no..." Bingo whimpered, his professionalism dying by the second.

"Don't try talking yourself out of this one," Chef interrupted. "We've got cameras everywhere, boy, even when you don't expect anyone to see what you're up to. Nothing is private here."

Chris nodded. "Chef's right, Bingo. We know all about your little rendezvous that you've been having with Izzy."

Bingo paled.

"We can't have you being in a relationship with one of our contestants. If you start playing favorites, the audience will start playing favorites, and when either you or they start taking action, I'll start losing money."

_Figures that this would all be about your paycheck_, Bingo thought.

"I don't care how you do it, but you've got to make a statement that you can't be dating that lunatic, and you've got to make it today. Otherwise, Chef here will sprinkle scraps of your precious contract over tonight's dinner."

"High in fiber, low in calories," Chef said with a diabolical grin. Bingo was tempted to applaud the man for making nutritional facts frightening, but he stopped himself.

"I'll... I'll do it, sir," Bingo said, doing his best to sound too dejected.

"Let's hope so, if only for your sake," Chris said, pocketing his glasses. "Chef, if you could escort our guest out, please?"

Once again, the intern was brought skyward by the bigger man, and unceremoniously tossed out to the ground, where Bingo washed down his breakfast with a handful of dirt.

* * *

Despite previous events, Chris somehow managed to slide his way into the mess hall at just the right time.

"It's... that... time... again..." Chris gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

"To find out just how deep the rabbit hole goes?" Izzy asked, blissfully unaware of the reference she made.

"To rely on our hunting skills?" Ezekiel pondered, looking over his trusty bow.

"No... it's time... for today's... challenge... oh boy..."

With that, the host promptly fainted. As Chef delivered CPR (much to the dismay of a handful of contestants who would rather not have the image of mouth-to-mouth between Chris and Chef in their minds), Bingo ran up to the wheel and gave it a spin himself.

"Wheel of Challenges, blah blah blah, something something, Burma-Shave," the intern grumbled, tapping his foot.

As soon as the machine spat out the slip of paper, Bingo tore it out, though was interrupted by Chris nabbing it for himself, the resucitation a success.

"Everybody get up!" Chris demanded. "It's time to play some basketball!"

A collection of groans resonated from the contestants.

"Of all the times for us to lose our most athletic competitor, it had to be before a sports challenge?" Noah said.

"I agree. It would have been best to eliminate you, instead," Justin retorted.

"Don't start anything now, anti-me. Despite how much I despise the idea of it happening, something tells me that this challenge is going to involve us working together." Noah shivered as the last two words escaped his mouth. "So for now, I can only suggest a truce."

Justin stared down at the cynic, who had an arm extended.

"Fair enough. A truce, for now," Justin responded, returning the shake.

Of course, both young men had their fingers crossed behind their backs.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Noah** - "What, you think I was just going to let anti-me go around without my watching his every move? He's as slippery as they come; you lose your grip for a second, and he's out of reach. If he screws us over, he's getting a first-class trip to the playa, courtesy of my foot kicking his sorry ass!"

**Justin** - "To say that I don't trust that egghead would be putting it much too lightly. I know he's got something planned, and I won't rest until I find out what that is!"

* * *

Somehow, the Chrisoseum had been totally redesigned for the sole purpose of hosting a basketball game. Gone were the chairs, now folded-up and placed near the entrance. Instead, the building hosted a gigantic court, with a gigantic painting of (what else?) Chris McLean's head. On opposite sides of the court hung two hoops, with busts of Chef Hatchet and Bingo on respective sides.

"Now, then, does anybody here not know how to play basketball?" Chris asked, turning to the twelve remaining competitors.

A hand rose from the audience.

"Does anybody here besides Ezekiel not know how to play basketball?"

The hand descended.

"All right, then! We'll play two fifteen-minute halves, with a five-minute halftime in between. Each team will be granted one time-out per half. One contestant will be the coach, and the other five will play. No swapping. You have ten minutes to prepare before the game begins. Good luck... is what I would say if I cared."

* * *

"Now, then, as head coach, I pla-"

"Wait a minute here," Justin interrupted Noah. "Who said you could be head coach?"

"Myself, for one," the cynic responded. "Furthermore, I've actually studied how these games are played, since I'm a bit physically challenged, shall we say."

"Why not put Bridgette at that position, then?" Trent asked, signalling the girl with a point of his thumb. "We could lose a lot of ground if she trips at the wrong time. No offense, Bridgette."

"None taken," the surfer responded. "Believe me, I'm just as worried as you are."

"And you don't think I've already thought of that? Really, Trent, I'm disappointed," Noah said with a click of his tongue. "That's why she'll be on defense."

"Defense?" Bridgette repeated.

Noah nodded. "You're not fit to do a lot of moving, so your best bet would be to block the others. Ezekiel, I want you to do so as well."

"M-me, eh?" the homeschooled boy said with a slight jump.

"Let's be honest, Zeke; if we let you play offense, you'd probably end up scoring on the wrong basket."

"I doon't know what that means, but you're probably right, eh?"

"That leaves Izzy and Justin as our main offense, and Trent as our jack of all trades. Any objections from anyone who isn't the anti-me?"

Justin forced his mouth closed.

"Good. Izzy, can I trust you to play for possession?" Noah asked, turning to the orange-haired girl.

"You got it! I once had to leap over a-"

"Yeah, that's great, Izzy."

* * *

"Remind me again how you talked your way to this position, princess?" Duncan asked his on-again off-again girlfriend.

"Simple. I hold priority over the rest of you due to my position as a CIT and my group of lawyers, and I'm already positioned to be the team cheerleader. See?" Courtney responded, holding up a pair of frilly pom-poms.

"Can't argue with that," Duncan said, rolling his eyes.

"Now, then. Heather and Harold, since you're the tallest, you're both on defense."

"Sweet!" Harold responded with a fist-pump. "No one can tear apart the love between myself and m'lady!"

"Don't get too excited," Heather said. "Keep your head in the game and your eyes on the ball, not on my boobs."

"Your words sting, but I understand that what you say is for the good of us all. I shall obey your commands, m'lady," Harold said with a bow.

"Okay, then. Duncan, LeShawna, you're on offense. Shouldn't be a problem, now should it?"

"Ha, you'd better believe it. They won't know what hit 'em!" Duncan laughed, cracking his knuckles.

"Ooooh, I'm gonna tear them apart!" LeShawna shouted, steam exiting her nose.

"...Right. Gwen, that'll leave you to your own accord. But don't slack off, or else your future will be about as dim as Harold."

"Hey!"

"Don't worry about me," Gwen assured. "I've got a game plan going already."

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Gwen** - "All right, so it's not a game plan as much as an excuse to try and explain what's been happening with Trent. But it's still a plan taking place during a game, so I'm technically right. Right?"

* * *

A piercing whistle interrupted the Killer Champs' discussion, courtesy of chris, who was now wearing a striped baseball cap.

"Champs, pick your player who's gonna jump for possession!" the host called out.

"Harold, it's all on you. Don't screw this up!" Courtney demanded, prodding a finger into the nerd's chest.

"Or do screw it up, actually. I'd like an excuse to kick your scrawny ass outta here once and for all!" Duncan said with a sinister chuckle.

Harold said nothing, but merely reached into his pocket and picked up a white bandanna adorned with a large red circle. While the symbolism passed on some, others recognized it as the Japanese flag.

Tying the bandanna around his head, Harold strode forward to wear Izzy stood. The crazy girl gave an equally crazy grin.

Chef, who had donned a striped shirt and a pair of black pants in order to play referee, tossed the ball in the air, which was immediately nabbed by Izzy, who had used the lankier teen as a stepping stool.

"Reminder, contestants! The Killer Champs are aiming for Chef's side of the court, and the Losers are aiming for Bingo!"

Upon hearing her friend's name, Izzy skid to a stop, and peered around the vacinity of the arena. The intern was nowhere to be seen.

Unfortunately, this brief pause was just enough time for LeShawna to shove her to the ground and run the ball up the court for a slam dunk, past the feeble attempts from Ezekiel and Bridgette.

"That's a foul! Are you mad?" Noah yelled at the host.

"Sorry, bro. Fouls only count on shot attempts."

"Then why don't we just kill the other side and call it a day?"

"Hey, I'm not stopping you. Why not go for it? I'd bet it would be great for ratings!"

Noah scowled at Chris before returning to his side. During his venting, the Champs had scored another four points, thanks to LeShawna and her unworldly strength.

"_Make a rumpus, dance and jive, keep our winning streak alive_!" Courtney cheered, her pom-poms rustling in full force.

Ignoring the incessant cheering from her coach, Gwen stayed on the sidelines, fully aware that her four co-competitors were doing a fine enough job on their own.

It was then, however, that she bumped into someone.

"Oh, sorry!" she said before turning around. There stood Trent, a small trickle of blood emerging from his nose.

"Oh, crap!" Gwen yelled. "Are you doing all right, Trent?"

"Never better," the musician responded. "I've had worse things happen to me before, so it's really not too terrible. Sorry to worry you."

"Oh, no... no, it's nothing."

The two stood in semi-silence, the uproar of the game still causing a good amount of background noise.

"Look, I-" Gwen began, though Trent had already put a finger to the goth's lips.

"Let me guess. You've started developing feelings for Duncan? You're once again planning on leaving me to die on a team with barely anybody decent on it?" the musician asked.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," she replied. "I wanted to tell you that it's the exact opposite of that. The only reason I like Duncan is because sometimes he hates Courtney just as much as I do."

"Yeah, I hear that," Trent said, glancing at the CIT, who was still madly jumping around. "So we're still cool?"

"Yeah, we're still cool," Gwen replied with a small smile. "Just don't get any weird ideas in your head, all right?"

"Sounds like a plan," Trent said, giving a thumbs-up.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Trent** - "I may have strong feelings for Gwen, but that doesn't mean I don't know when she's lying to me. Something going on with them, and I'm going to find out what!"

**Gwen** - "Before you ask, yes, I meant every word that I said to him. Emphasis on every; if he starts going cuckoo again, we're through."

* * *

Despite Noah's better efforts, the Screaming Losers lived up to their name. Aside from a miracle shot made by Bridgette after tripping, the combined force of Izzy seeming out of touch and Duncan and LeShawna's brute force was only a winning combination for the Killer Champs.

"Time! I call time!" Noah shouted, making the traditional hand signal.

Chef rolled his eyes, but blew on his own whistle to signify a break in the action.

"Zeke! Bridgette! What did I tell you to play?" the coach yelled.

"Um..."

"It's called _defense_! It's in the dictionary, under D-E-F-E-N-S-E! I may be wrong, but I doubt it!"

"We're trying, Noah! They're just too good, and they're not even playing fair!" Bridgette said, wiping her brow.

"Oh, well excuse me, then! I figured in a cutthroat competition like this we'd all follow the rules exactly!"

Noah turned to his offensive line.

"Anti-me, I can believe that you'd be terrible-"

"Excuse me?" the model asked, though Noah ignored him as expected.

"-But Izzy? Where the hell did the action girl go the one time that I needed to see her?"

"Bingo's gone missing, Noah!"

"What, you think he's run down the well or something? Better whistle for Lassie to save your man candy, eh?"

"But what if he's hurt?"

"What's going to be hurt here are your chances at winning this thing if you don't get back in the game, Izzy! I'd bet he's just taking a day off from being watched over by Chris and Chef. Wouldn't you want one if you were in his position?"

Izzy gave a slight nod.

"And then there's you, loverboy," Noah grumbled, turning to Trent. "You may not have a set position in this game, but that's no excuse for socializing, especially with the other team!"

"Big words for somebody who's not playing the game," Trent responded, arms crossed.

"Big words for somebody with a target on his back if he doesn't get his shit together!"

"How would you go about doing that, then?"

"Zeke and Izzy are putty in my hands, guitar hero. Even if you can get Bridgette and anti-me on your side, there'd still be a tie vote. And odds are, they're gonna side with the guy who leads his team from the sidelines instead of the guy who only watches."

The cynic and the musician stared each other down for a few moments, neither gaze flinching. It was Trent, however, who was the first to blink.

"All right, I'll see what I can do," he mumbled, turning his head from his coach.

"We've still got some time to turn things around," Noah announced. "So let's do so!"

With a thunderous roar of a team aiming for victory, the Screaming Losers jumped back into the fray.

* * *

Bingo paced back and forth on top of the thousand-foot cliff, the one place no one in their right mind would look for an intern.

"How... how to put it..." he whispered to himself. Back and forth.

"There's got to be a way to tell Izzy we can't be a couple." Back and forth.

"Alternatively, there's got to be some loophole in my contract..." Back and forth.

"But knowing Chris, he'll probably show me some fine print in invisible ink." Back and forth.

"So that simply begs the question…" Back and forth.

"What matters more: my emotions right now, or my well-being in the future?" Back and fo-

Having tempted fate long enough, Bingo had finally slipped on some mud, the ground still moist from the showers a few days prior. Praying to as many deities as he could think of whilst in free fall, the intern fell, face-first, into the water below.

* * *

**Author's Note: I thank you for reading.**


	11. Day 5, Part 2: And Welcome To the Jam

A few bubbles emerged from the waters at the bottom of the cliff, followed by more and more until the air pockets gave way to a frantically swimming Bingo G. Nib, whose shirt was currently being chomped upon by the local sharks.

A few minutes of desperate paddling later, the intern made his way to shore, gasping for breath.

"One, two, three, four, five. Looks like the gang's all here," Bingo muttered to himself, making sure that his fingers were intact.

"Bingo! Hey, Bingo!"

The intern looked up. The person who called his name was none other than Izzy, who had started running towards him at an incredibly high speed.

"Slow down slow down SLOW DO-"

Physics once again took its toll on Bingo, who was sent flying into the waters once again.

After a brief (albeit unexciting, at least in Izzy terms) rescue mission, the intern and the crazy girl sat on the beach.

"How're you doing?" Izzy asked.

"My wear is worse, but I'm not worse for wear," Bingo replied, grinning at his own play on words. "While I appreciate you coming out for me, don't you have a challenge you're supposed to be in now?"

"Oh, it's half time. And it's not like it matters; the Killer Champs have fourty-seven points compared to our four."

Bingo blinked.

"And you thought the best way to spend your precious time that could be used on making a winning strategy should be spent with me?"

Izzy nodded.

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment, really, but I can't say that I think you made the right decision. After all, if Chris sees you with me, he'll..."

Bingo stopped mid-sentence, the situation finally dawning on him.

He gazed upwards at a lone seagull that had been flying over him. Sure enough, the bird had a small camera hanging around its neck.

"Oh, crap."

"Oh, crap, indeed."

Bingo turned around. There stood Chris McLean, a set of documents in his hands and, to the surprise of the intern, a very stern look on his stubbly face.

"I gave you your chance, Bingo, and you wasted it. I'm not surprised, but I'm still disappointed. That being said, pack your things; we won't be needing you to stay here much longer."

"Wait! You can't do that!" Izzy retorted, jumping in front of her maybe-boyfriend.

"Oh, really? And why can't I? I've got more power than anyone else on this show. You stick up for your lover, and I'll get rid of you as well!"

"Fine, then go ahead! You already had me incarcerated!"

"Izzy, please," Bingo said. "Let's see if we can strike a deal of some kind."

Moving the fiery-haired girl to his side, Bingo nabbed the documents from his boss's hands.

"All right, tell us, once more, why we can't be together. I'll be keeping these for a few moments. You make any sudden movements, and Izzy here will hide them. And believe me when I say that even I won't know where they'll end up."

Chris scowled, but recovered his composure after remembering that this was being broadcast.

"Fine. Bingo, you've already shown to be one of the more popular elements for this season. Thus, whoever you keep in contact with will also become more popular. If you go out with... _her_," Chris pointed to Izzy as if she was a pimple on the host's face, "then she'd be popularized as well. So what happens if she gets the boot?"

Bingo didn't respond.

"We lose viewers, and fast. If half of your fans become fans of her, they'll jump ship when what makes you interesting dies out as well."

"Okay, that makes zero sense," Bingo pointed out. "Wouldn't they still be watching if I stayed on the show as well?"

Chris crossed his arms. "Not if you become some sadsack because of it. You'd start losing popularity just as quickly as you've been gaining it, and the remaining episodes will bomb."

"Then I'll leave when she leaves," Bingo said.

"I don't think so. You're staying for as long as the season lasts, thanks to that contract."

"Then I'll quit."

"You can't quit. That's also in the contract."

"I'll get rid of the contracts."

"You honestly don't think I'd make copies? She's holding one of ten-thousand copies right there. I can make or break you, intern, just like all the others. Just because you're the favorite of one of our contestants doesn't make you any better."

"Well... um... screw you?"

Chris shook his head. "You're out of luck, kid. Drop the romance, or drop your job. I'll give you until tonight to make your decision."

With that, the host turned to make his leave, leaving behind a frustrated Bingo and Izzy.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Bingo** - "I can't say I regret what I did out there, but I still lost. That madman's got me hanging by a thread, and as long as one copy of that contract is out there, I'll be stuck here. So the question here is... what matters more to Izzy?"

* * *

Noah buried his face into his third book of sports rules, trying to find a loophole.

"We only have three minutes left," Trent pointed out. "I think maybe we should just throw in the towel."

"That's the quitter's way out," the cynic responded. "Sports aren't my forte, but logic is. I know there's a way for us to turn the game around, and as soon as we find it, we'll be back in the winner's circle."

"Well, let's look at it from every angle," Bridgette said. "We can't go on offense because we'll be trampled, and we can't go on defense because... we'll be trampled."

"And they can't be chickened-"

"Fouled, Ezekiel."

"-Unless we're makin' a shot, eh?"

"I know all of this!" Noah cried out. "I know we can't do anything, and I know that we can't be fouled unless we're making..."

Noah's mind started racing.

"Unless we're making..." he repeated.

He slammed the book shut.

"Ezekiel, if I wasn't already humiliated for kissing a guy on national television, I'd kiss you right now. But for now, um..."

The cynic turned to Bridgette.

"Would you mind?"

The surfer girl sighed. "Do I have to?"

"Look, it's a decent incentive, and he just won us the challenge right there."

"Oh, really?" Justin said, cocking an eyebrow. "And how are we expected to make forty-four points in fifteen minutes?"

"Just listen to what I have to say, anti-me. And don't worry; I'll make sure to have your sorry ass on the chopping block if you don't."

The model grumbled to himself before listening to Noah's ideas.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Justin** - "Bold words, Noah. But we'll see just who the master strategist is at the end of the competition, when you'll be eliminated!

"It'll... it'll be me. I'll be the master strategist. That's the point I'm making."

* * *

Courtney was laying down on a beachside hammock, slyly smiling to herself.

Thanks to those brutes, another challenge was in the bag, and once again, she had absolutely nothing to fear. This competition was just too easy.

"Hey hey, gorgeous!"

Ah. Right.

"What do you want, Duncan?" the CIT muttered, turning herself away from the criminal.

"Hey, I'm not here to fight with you, at least not now," he responded. "I just want to talk strategy."

"The only strategy you need to worry about here is listening to me, and to keep running down those losers. Even that should be simple enough to get into your head, shouldn't it?"

"Not exactly what I meant, princess," Duncan said. "I mean the fact that we have an alliance on our hands."

This got Courtney's attention. "All right, I'm listening."

"You know as well as I do that the bitch and the bastard have something going on between them, yeah?"

"Heather and Harold? What about them? It's not like they have a chance at winning this competition, at least not as long as I'm around."

"Hey, I like your cocky attitude just as much as you like my-"

"Don't even think about saying what I think you're going to say."

Duncan gave a slight shrug. "What I'm saying is that while together they're not much, Heather's got some decent strategy, and Harold has a few surprises up his sleeve, no matter how much I hate to admit it. We've got to get them out of here, and fast."

Courtney nodded. "For once, I have to agree with you. Question is, who do we get out first?"

Duncan grinned. "Easy. We get Harold out first."

"Dare I ask why?"

"Heather's got the brains, but she's lacking the ability to back it up on the playing field. Harold, on the other hand, might be a problem. He's not afraid to do something drastic when he needs to most, and if he gets suspicious, it's gonna be us on the chopping block next. We get him out, and then his little girlfriend's gonna be easy pickings!"

Courtney returned the grin. "It's a deal. But we shouldn't worry for now; we've got this challenge in the bag!"

* * *

The two teams reconvened in the court of the Chrisoseum, the timer reset, and the score showing the forty-three point difference.

Courtney regained her pom-poms, and had already started rehearsing for her victory dance. Duncan and LeShawna were once again brought up in front, with Gwen, Harold, and Heather waiting on the sidelines.

Noah looked as if he had stopped caring, as he had once again brought out a book to read. His teammates were all standing in what looked like offensive positions.

Chef Hatchet blew his whistle, and Ezekiel grabbed the ball, flinging it forwards as Duncan tackled him.

A second whistle screech echoed through the stadium as soon as the last had died out.

"Foul on the Killer Champs! Zeke, come on up and take your free throws."

Courtney's jaw dropped. "What? What happened?"

"He hit him as he was shooting. That's a foul."

"But he wasn't even close to the basket! How was that considered a shot?"

"Hey, he wants to try for a Hail Mary, I'm not gonna stop him."

Courtney fumed as Ezekiel managed to make both of his shots.

Harold grabbed the ball, tossing it to Duncan, though it was nabbed by Justin, who followed Ezekiel's example and once again lobbed the ball as soon as Leshawna swiped at it.

"Foul on the Killer Champs!"

This process continued for several minutes until the lead had been halved.

"Time out! Time out!" Courtney cried, flailing her arms.

Chef Hatchet rolled his eyes as he gave another piercing blow into his whistle, followed by a tall drink of water.

"Okay, we're doing something horrendously wrong here, people. What happened to our strategy?"

"Looks like it wasn't as effective as you thought, perfectionist," Heather muttered. "Not that that's terribly surprising."

"Zip it! All right, Gwen, Harold, you're on offense now."

"What? Why are we doing that?" the goth asked, her arms once again crossed.

"We've got to change things around a bit. If we have Duncan and LeShawna playing defensively, it'll allow them to maintain their position as the brute strength of the team while not letting Noah play the foul game. Our lead is strong enough that we don't have to worry about them getting any more points, after all."

Gwen and Harold glanced at each other. The nerd offered a shrug, which the goth returned.

"So... get out there and win us this challenge! Or else!"

Noah glanced up from his book for the briefest of moments to flash a thumbs-up before returning.

With possession belonging to the Screaming Losers, Trent was passed the ball from the sidelines. He immediately made an attempt at a two-point shot that was deflected by a leaping LeShawna.

Chef Hatchet gave a weak blow into his whistle before wheezing uncomfortably.

"Goal tending on the Killer Champs! Two points to their score!"

"You've GOT to be kidding me!" Courtney complained to Chris. "How was that goal tending?"

"They're playing way too close to the net, dude," Chris responded with a half-shrug. "You should've warned them while you had the chance."

"Don't I have another time-out?"

"One per half, dude. And they don't carry over."

"Ugh! This is so unfair!"

Unfortunately, Gwen and Harold were unable to match the offensive capabilities of Duncan and LeShawna, and the ball was stolen on every attempt by the likes of Izzy and Trent. Ezekiel, Justin, and Bridgette were in charge of shooting, and the goal tending points added higher and higher.

After the tenth goal-tending in a row, the score had somehow gotten the Screaming Losers a 48-47 lead. With only a handful of seconds on the clock. Noah gave a very bored time-out hand symbol, which Chef responded to with a thumbs-up as he rubbed his sore throat.

"Well, looks like we've got it made," Noah said with a sly grin. "Bridgette?"

The surfer girl rolled her eyes, and gave Ezekiel a chaste peck on the cheek. The prairie boy covered his face with his toque to cover his blushing face.

"Don't get too attached to that," Bridgette warned.

"Wouldn't... dream of it, eh..." Ezekiel responded.

On the other side of the court, the Killer Champs stood around, looking to their de facto leader for some sort of an idea.

"I... I've got nothing," Courtney admitted with a half-hearted shrug. "They turned it around, I'll give them credit, but since our powerhouses are such fools..."

"Hey!" Duncan and LeShawna yelled.

"...It looks like we'll have to go for a different approach."

Courtney turned to Harold, who was currently in the process of cleaning his glasses after coughing up some phlegm into them.

"Harold... it's all up to you now."

The nerd glanced up, wiping his glasses with his undershirt. "Oh, so now I'm important to you?"

"Yes, Harold, you are. The only way we can win this is if you somehow make it to the court and get a basket in there."

"But their defense is way better than ours," Gwen remarked. "I know you're tall, Harold, but I don't think you have the arm strength to make a shot over their heads."

"That means the only way you're gonna win is with a slam dunk," Duncan concluded. "Let's see you jump, shrimp."

"Just ask how high," Harold responded with a small smile.

As Harold was tossed the ball, Noah returned to the comfort of his book.

"Easy slams, guys. Just make sure you don't hurt nobody, and we'll have this game in the bag."

"Don't test my slam jam," Harold muttered to himself.

The nerd ran forward, dribbling the ball at an incredible intensity. Using his figure-skating prowess, he managed to sneak his way past Izzy and Justin, make Trent and Ezekiel run into each other, and even stuck a foot out to trip up Bridgette.

Nothing was in his way as he ran up the court.

"This is a slam jam!" the nerd cried out as he leapt.

"_I believe I can fly..._

"_I believe I can touch the sky..._"

Harold soared through the air, his mind calculating the exact point where he needed to dunk.

"_I think about it every night and day..._

_"Spread my wings and fly away..."_

He moved the ball to his dominant hand.

_"I believe I can soar..._

_"I see me running through that open door..."_

He began to move it downwards. The eyes of the Killer Champs lit up, and the Screaming Losers winced in pain. Noah had closed his book.

"_I believe I can fly..._

_"I believe I can_-"

The buzzer resounded through the stadium just as Chef Hatchet pressed stop on his boombox. Harold had not dunked the ball in time.

"And with a forty-eight to forty-seven victory, the Screaming Losers have won the challenge!" Chris announced, raising his arms in pseudo-celebration.

Cheers erupted from the winning team as Noah was brought onto their shoulders. The cynic gave a sarcastic thumbs-up to a seething Courtney.

"Killer Champs, meet me back here in an hour. It's time to send someone home."

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Harold** – "Well, you can't win 'em all, I guess." /He whistles a few bars./

* * *

One hour later, the Killer Champs reconvened in the Chrisoseum. While the court had been entirely removed and the chairs had been set up, Chef Hatchet had not left his position. Aside from that, the only changes were Bingo's presence (his shirt replaced), and the familiar platter, with the familiar chocolate trophies, in the host's hand.

"All right, Killer Champs, you know the drill by now. When I call your name, come up and claim your Chris Cup. The competitor who does not receive a Chris Cup must immediately pack your bags, head out to the Boat of Losers, and say good-bye to their chances or winning.

"The first contestant who is safe is... Duncan!"

The criminal nabbed his trophy.

"Heather... and Gwen."

Harold, Courtney, and LeShawna eyed each other.

"I know I say that every elimination is the most dramatic ever, but this time, I mean it. You three all have two votes against each other. So we called on Chef Hatchet to deliver a tiebreaker vote.

"With that being said... Harold, you're safe."

"Yesss..." the nerd said to himself as he claimed his immunity.

"The last Chris Cup of the evening goes to...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...Courtney."

The CIT gave a slight cheer as she received her Chris Cup.

"Say what now? Why'd you vote me off, Chef?" LeShawna asked.

"Hey, you beat me up, you suffer the consequences."

"Beat you up? When did I ever do that, muscles?"

"Don't play dumb with me, girl. You're eliminated fair and square."

LeShawna sighed, but turned to the other contestants.

"I don't know what's happenin' right now, but... good luck to y'all, I guess."

With that, the self-proclaimed sister took her leave.

"Thanks to Chef for the final vote, and to you guys, go get some rest."

After the remaining Killer Champs had left the building, Chris and Chef turned to the intern.

"Well, Bingo?" Chris asked.

The intern gulped, before opening his mouth.

* * *

LeShawna stood on the dock of shame, looking at a bottle.

"Let's see... sleep pills... do not awaken the user when pills are applied before eight hours... doing so may cause bursts of anger and brief lapses of memory..."

Her eyebrows skyrocketed.

"So when that goody-two-shoes host was wakin' us up in the mornin'... it was his fault that I got the boot!"

LeShawna threw the pills into the water, before loudly shouting Chris's name into the sky.

* * *

With one last shove, the box toppled down from the truck's behind, and from that box emerged Stanley, its extension cords pointing directly towards Camp Wawanakwa.

The truck had taken a U-turn, though Stanley flung his chords in front of their tires, causing the truck to slip down the valley below.

No truck was going to slow him down, for Stanley the Microwave wanted revenge.

* * *

**Who voted for whom?  
**

**Gwen** - "LeShawna and I are voting for Courtney. She's getting a little too comfortable in her position as the boss, and I think it's time to take her down a peg."

**Heather** - "I told Harold to vote off LeShawna, if only because she's just too powerful to leave around. If she got a hold of herself before we took her out, she could end us in the blink of an eye."

**Duncan** - "Time to put the plan into action. So long, Harold!"

**LeShawna** - "Gwen's talkin' about takin' down Courtney, and I've gotta agree with her. My head may be a bit fuzzy, but I know that she's up to somethin'!"

**Courtney** - "Harold's going down, like he should have in the first place."

**Harold** - "It takes a lot of bravery for a man to admit that he was wrong, and so... I was wrong in thinking that LeShawna and I could be together. I'm happy with Heather, and so I vote with Heather... for...

/Harold sniffs back a tear./

...LeShawna."

**Chef Hatchet** - "So Chris-man tells me I've gotta vote for either the scrawny kid, the loudmouth, or the chick that's been punching me in the gut for the past few days. As much as I despise 'em all, I've gotta go with the only one who deals me physical damage as well as mental damage. LeShawna, my vote's for you."

**LeShawna - Three votes**

**Harold - Two votes**

**Courtney - Two votes**

**Eliminated: Beth, Owen, Geoff, Eva, LeShawna.**

**Author's Note: I usually don't add much, but I'd like to encourage you all to check out the Berryjam, hosted by Madamluna. It's only for one more day, I believe, but if you'd like to give it a shot, go ahead. I would, but I'm busy with this.**

**With that out of the way, I thank you for reading.**


	12. Day 6, Part 1: Free Wheelin'

"Last time, on Total Drama Tournament!

"The two teams hit the court for a no-holds-barred basketball game. While the Killer Champs used their brute force to take an early lead, Noah's strategy and loophole manipulation gave the Screaming Losers an upset victory, despite Harold's better efforts to make a game-saving slam dunk.

"In what truly was the most dramatic campfire ceremony ever, a three-way tie had to be settled by our own Chef Hatchet, who gave his vote to LeShawna, in hopes that he wouldn't suffer any more pain. Nice work, Chef!

"But it was Bingo the intern who suffered the most, after having to choose between his internship and his relationship with Izzy. Let's just say she might not like the outcome.

"Will the Screaming Losers keep up their A-game? Will the newly formed alliance between Duncan and Courtney turn things around? And what kind of dangerous stunts will the Wheel of Challenges have for us today? Find out right now, on Total!

"Drama!

"Tournament!"

* * *

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The rhythmic poundings of Bingo's head on the side of the communal washrooms echoed throughout the campgrounds, much to the annoyance of the lighter sleepers.

Bang. Bang, bang, bang.

"Yo, intern?" Duncan grumbled, still in his underpants. "Would it kill you to hold off on band practice until we're actually awake?"

"Not that it'll matter," Bingo responded glumly. Bang. "Wouldn't Chris just wake you up in due time regardless?" Bang. "I don't see you complaining when you're wailing for the return of your coveted lady friend."

"I told you before, scrawny, don't talk about that season," the delinquent threatened between bangs. "I suffered more there than I did during taco day at juvie. And believe me, Owen would cringe when he took a whiff of that."

"Sounds fascinating," Bingo said before another bang. "Maybe if you told somebody who cared, you'd get a response."

Duncan shook his head, half in disbelief and half to wake himself up more, and returned to the cabins to get dressed.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Bingo** - "Well, I chose my job over Izzy. Am I proud? Not particularly. I suppose that the shippers won't be after my head now that the natural order of things has returned, as natural as things can be on this hellhole, but something tells me that I'll look back at all this, and realize that I've made a poor decision.

"Of course, it's gonna be a while before I realize if it's regarding the internship or Izzy, but still."

* * *

As Harold left the communal washrooms newly showered, a pale hand grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him to the side.

"Gosh... lay off the shirt, man," the nerd mumbled before realizing that he was talking to his girlfriend.

"We've been doing well," Heather began with an evil smirk. "I've gotta say, I'm really impressed that you managed to give you ex the boot like that. It takes balls, and believe me, I love a man with..."

Pause for sexual tension.

"...Balls."

As Harold's face flushed, Heather continued. "But we can't just settle for being able to run who gets eliminated. We're now down five to six, and those losers have been proving to be more efficient than our losers at some of these challengers.

"Harold, I can't believe I'm saying this, but..."

Heather heaved a sigh.

"Could you please teach me some of your mad skills?"

Harold's eyes lightened up.

"Don't get any bright ideas, Harold. I've got a lot more smarts than you have, and I'll be able to tell from a mile away if you're planning on doing anything disgusting."

"Naw, no worries," Harold replied. "I've been training for years, and if you're as intelligent as you claim to be, you shall inherit my incredible powers like the world's most beautiful sponge."

Heather raised an eyebrow.

"Um... milady?"

"Better," she replied as she leaned in for a kiss.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Heather** - "It's almost unfair how easy it is to use Harold to win this competition. The nerd gets turned on faster than a light bulb, and now that I'm 'inheriting' his skills, he won't be of any use to me soon. If they don't work, he gets the boot. If they do, we last until the merge, and then he gets eliminated. It's foolproof, just like all master plans should be."

* * *

The eleven remaining contestants gathered in the mess hall, Bingo's poundings still moving through both the island and their heads.

The Screaming Losers looked particularly upset; aside from early riser Ezekiel, Trent and Bridgette were practically falling asleep in their breakfasts, Noah and Justin hadn't uttered a single insult to each other, and not even Izzy had her wired, lovably insane grin on, instead supporting her head on her hands.

As Chris (somewhat predictably) ran into the mess hall, he skid to a stop sooner than he usually did.

"Dudes. I know that Bingo hasn't entirely been a team player, but that doesn't mean that we can just stop everything so you can get some more shuteye. So come on, guys! It's that time again!"

"Merfle flurfle," Gwen grumbled, lifting her head inches above the table.

"Collywobble," Courtney hissed, stabbing a fork into the table.

"Nooo," Chris responded, looking more than a little freaked out. "It's time to find out what today's challenge is!

"And in order to do so, we turn to our favorite, not-at-all stolen and not-at-all gimmicky device, the Wheel of Challenges!"

"Wher'zit," Noah whispered, trying and failing to maintain his cynicism.

"Huh?"

"The wheel's missing, eh?" Ezekiel spoke up, pointing to the large gap where the Wheel of Challenges once stood.

Chris' gaze turned to the gap, then the contestants, then the gap, then a clueless Chef Hatchet, then the gap again.

"Okay, new challenge; get the wheel back from... wherever it is. Don't ask questions, don't consider the consequences, and for the love of my beautiful face, don't get caught doing so.

"Ready?"

"Mmmmm."

"Good enough. Let's move!"

They did not move.

"Chef, can you go show us just how talented you are with an accordion?"

They moved.

"Never mind, Chef."

"Lousy kids wouldn't appreciate a good polka if it bit 'em in the ass."

* * *

Already donned in her wetsuit, Bridgette took to the waves to look for the wheel. Her surfboard remained perfectly balanced among the brine, despite the high tides and ever-present litter.

After circling the island without sight of the wheel, she prepared to stop by the dock until a high-pierced shriek interrupted the semi-serenity of the island.

Ezekiel had somehow managed to find himself within the mouth of a shark, his life dependent on how long his arms and legs could support themselves.

"Watch out, Zeke!" Bridgette called out, swimming towards the prairie boy.

"I could've used that advice aboot an hour ago, eh!" Ezekiel replied.

Leaping from the waves, Bridgette smacked her surfboard directly on top of the shark's head, leading to the carnivore fainting.

Unfortunately, Ezekiel's balance broke at roughly the same time, leading to him falling into the sea creature's gullet.

With a strength even she didn't expect to have, Bridgette lifted the shark above her head and shook it furiously with its mouth pointed towards the water. After a few seconds, a delirious Ezekiel fell out, his toque following.

"Oooh, boy. I owe you several, Bridgette," Ezekiel said before spitting out a live fish.

"Hey, no problem, Zeke. We're teammates, after all."

"Can't say I really remember doing anything that made me worth saving, to be honest."

"Then I guess you're just lucky I don't know how to hate somebody."

The two shared a good-natured laugh.

"Here, climb on," Bridgette said, pointing towards her surfboard. "I'm no DJ, but I can at least get you back to the island safe and sound."

"Aw, I couldn't do that. You've done way too much for my sake already, eh?"

"I can't promise that you won't be pursued by another shark..."

"Oh, well, if you insist!" the prairie boy near-shouted as he scrambled on top of the surfboard.

The ride was relatively uneventful, if only because they weren't pursued by a deadly animal.

"You mind if I tell you about a dream I had, Bridgette?" Ezekiel asked.

"Sure, go ahead. Might get my mind off of how heavy you are," she replied with a wink.

"Well, I dreamt that there were sharks, and a lot of 'em, eh? And a great tornado fell from the sky and swept them up. Sharks and wind were everywhere, leading to a near-apocalyptic event that so many news sources called the end of the world."

"Ouch. How'd you stop them?"

"Bombs."

Bridgette raised an eyebrow.

"Doon't ask, eh?"

"Hey, after saving your butt from one of 'em, I doubt that I can."

Another laugh.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Bridgette** - "I've gotta say, Zeke's a pretty good friend. Sure, I'm not crazy about Noah using me as some sort of prize to be sought after, but outside of the competition, we'll probably keep in touch."

* * *

On a nearby beach, Duncan and Courtney were combing the sands in search of the missing wheel.

"Don't look now, princess, but it looks like Malibu's hooking up with homeschool. This is rich!" the delinquent said with a snort of laughter.

"They have names, you know. And so do I, for that matter!"

"Of course you do, princess. Of course you do."

Courtney responded with a swift slap to the face.

"Look, Duncan. The only thing that's keeping me from kicking your sorry ass off of this island is the fact that we have mutual enemies. Don't get too comfortable, or else when the teams merge, I'll make sure that you're the first to go."

Duncan grinned.

"Are you kidding me? The one with a target on her back is you, darling. Do you really think that anyone here's gonna keep the type-A who cheated her way to the final four?"

The CIT gasped. "Cheating? _Me_? What I did was purely strategy! You're one to talk, you lighter-abusing, manipulative, selfish freak!"

"Selfish? At least I didn't go out of my way to hire a bunch of suits to sneak me back onto the show!"

"Pig!"

"Drama queen!"

Suffice it to say, the make-out session that followed was legendary.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Duncan** - "What is it with that girl? She brings out the worst in me, but at the same time she brings out my best!"

**Courtney** - "I admit, my hormones have been getting the better of me when trying to put that Duncan in his rightful place. But he's still eating out of the palm of my hand, I know that. You know the old saying; don't bite the hand that feeds you." /She gives a sinister grin to the camera./

* * *

In their semi-secret location, Harold and Heather were twirling num-yos. While Harold's weapon was handled with grace and style, Heather's was struggling to spin for more than a few seconds at the time.

"Don't try to use your whole hand, or even your wrist. Make the num-yo part of your body," Harold guided. "Do not let the num-yo control you; you must control the num-yo."

"Lot easier said than done," the queen bee grumbled as the num-yo hit her on the head. "Ouch!"

"Oh, this is _rich_," a third voice said.

The couple turned their heads. There, between a few dead trees, stood Noah, his cynical personality back in full swing.

"What do you want, bookworm? Don't you have a challenge to ignore?" Heather snapped.

"I suppose you could say that I'm doing so now," Noah responded. "Having fun with your toys?"

"They're not toys, idiot," Harold stepped in. "The num-yo is a weapon of infinite power that requires dexterity beyond your mere imagination."

"You mean it hits people in the head and you spin it with your wrist?"

Harold grimaced.

"Heather. Please hand me your num-yos."

The girl looked a bit surprised at her boyfriend's serious attitude, but complied.

Now wielding two pairs of num-yos, Harold's hands spun so quickly Noah had to squint to even see them move.

"Simply one num-yo is enough to make any man yield on the field of battle," Harold began. "But give a man two..."

Harold guided one num-yo into the air, sliding the second onto it. The first pair acted like a pseudo-slingshot, shooting its double straight through a tree, knocking it down. Noah's eyebrows soared.

"Tell you what; you practice up, and see if you can do that yourself," the nerd challenged. "Or would it be too above you to play with 'toys' like these?"

Noah cursed under his breath as he went to gather the flung num-yos.

"That was... um..." Heather tried to begin, though she was interrupted when Harold handed her the remaining pair.

"You've still got some practicing to do, milady," he said with a wink.

"Certainly... milord..." Heather gasped, the faintest trace of a blush appearing on her cheeks.

* * *

Izzy's frantic personality seemed to have disappeared entirely as she slowly paced through the woods. Her eyes never left the ground, and her once-wild hair now settled down to a more straight look.

"Well, hello there," a voice called out from behind her.

Izzy didn't turn her head.

"Not now, Justin."

The model walked forward to Izzy's side.

"Come on now, chin up. Wouldn't want to look like this in front of your own teammate, would you?"

Izzy didn't respond.

"Look, I know we haven't been the closest of friends on the show-"

"Understatement," Izzy interrupted.

"Whatever. The point is, we only have eleven people left, and something tells me we both need a little help. I need the prize money to make up for my lost model deals, and you... you want to hook up with Bingo again, don't you?"

The mention of the intern's name caused Izzy's face to freeze in shock.

"Oh, don't act like it's such a surprise. I'm a model, Izzy; I read faces, and whenever he was around, yours lit up."

Justin extended a hand to the once-crazy girl.

"So I'll make you a deal. You work with me in an alliance, and I'll get you back with your little boyfriend. That sound good?"

Izzy stared at the manicured hand, and then at Justin's face. Oddly enough, it seemed sincere, at least for him.

"Fine," she sighed, slightly shaking Justin's hand. "But I'm not happy about this."

"Oh, don't worry. You'll learn to appreciate what we have soon enough," Justin said. "But for now, I've got a wheel to find. I'll see you around... partner."

With that, the model walked off, leaving a confused and still depressed Izzy alone.

* * *

**Confession Cam**

**Izzy - **"I liked Bingo, all right? He was a good balance for me; I'm a little loopy, and he eats Froot Loops. Working with Justin isn't going to be fun, though; even saying his name's given me goosebumps.

"No, I don't wanna show where. I'm not in the mood."

**Justin** - "And with that, an alliance is born. Of course I can't do anything to get that sadsack back with that loon, but I'm a model, and models lie. What matters now is winning that money, and if it can be done by playing Izzy like a violin, then that's how I'll win it."

* * *

Despite the better (and worse) efforts of the cast, the wheel remained undiscovered. Even though Trent searched the entirety of the bear caves, Gwen dove underwater, and Ezekiel searched through the urinals, they all came out empty-handed. The fact that Bingo had not stopped banging his head against the wall was not helping matters.

When lunchtime rolled around, the eleven competitors returned to the mess hall, where Chris was pacing.

"What, really? It's been, like, four hours! What the hell are we going to air, a polka? Now now, Chef," the host remarked as his partner reached for his accordion a second time.

"Ah, you seem to have a bit of a problem on your hands, now don't you?" a familiar voice said.

Through the doors of the mess hall stepped Officers Pin and Tulip of the Royal Canadian Segway Police.

"What are you guys doing here? Did Duncan steal another thousand dollars?" Trent asked.

"Now, now, don't be so hasty," Officer Pin replied. "We're not here to capture anything. After all, what we were supposed to capture has already been taken."

"You don't mean..." Chris began, realization hitting him like a cartoon mallet.

"He sure as _ing hell does," Officer Tulip grumbled. "Your _ing plot device is sittin' pretty at headquarters. Let me tell you, the feng shui of that _ing room is perfect now."

"I concur," Officer Pin added.

"If this means that they win the challenge, I'm quitting. This is getting way too weird, even for this show," Gwen said.

"Oh, nothing like that, miss. We don't need anything like that."

"Then what are you looking for?" Courtney begged the question on everyone's mind.

"What we want is for _ing Officer Nutmeg to not have quit the _ing force, ya jerks," Officer Tulip replied angrily. "You've forever ruined the _ing beauty of Flapjack Fridays."

"I admit, that would be a vast improvement to our... shall we say, morale," Officer Pin agreed. "Then it's settled. We shall return the Wheel of Challenges as soon as you can convince Officer Cornelius Nutmeg to return to his proper home at the Royal Canadian Segway Police."

"That doesn't sound too hard," Duncan said.

"Ah, that reminds me. Officer Nutmeg is currently on a small vacation on his private island. So... good luck with that," Officer Pin remarked as he left.

"And the feng shui here is _ing horrendous. You ought to be _ing ashamed," Officer Tulip spat as he followed his companion.

Eleven pairs of eyes stared at Chris L, who was sweating bullets.

Bang, bang, bang.

* * *

**Author's Note: I thank you for reading.**


End file.
